People always say that it hurts at night
and apparently screaming into your pillow at 3am
is the romantic equivalent of being heartbroken.

But sometimes
it’s 9am on a tuesday morning
and you’re standing at the kitchen bench waiting for the toast to pop up

And the smell of dusty sunlight and earl gray tea makes you miss them so much
you don’t know what to do with your hands.


— Rosie Scanlan, On Missing Them  (via bluegirls)

(via thirstttspoopy)



"The one thing I know for sure is that feelings are rarely mutual, so when they are, drop everything, forget belongings and expectations, forget the games, the two days between texts, the hard to gets because this is it, this is what the entire world is after and you’ve stumbled upon it by chance, by accident–so take a deep breath, take a step forward, now run, collide like planets in the system of a dying sun, embrace each other with both arms and let all the rules, the opinions and common sense crash down around you. Because this is love kid, and it’s all yours. Believe me, you’re in for one hell of a ride, after all–this is the one thing I know for sure."

Beau Taplin || The one thing I know for sure.  (via afadthatlastsforever)



René Magritte - The Lovers (1928) X Crystal Castles - Not in Love (2010)


"Because I had decided to run the other way, my detachment opened her to me and her melancholy tumbled out in mysterious bits. Happiness, sorrow, and abuse were mixed up like vegetables in a soup — the broth, her essence from moment to moment. Yet I was held not so much by her tragedy as by a single gesture — the way she knitted her long hair, sheets upon sheets of fine caramel webs, with two fingers and tossed it back from her face. It was a gentle, careless motion, the way I supposed she pushed the sadness back from her brown eyes."

— Andrew X Pham, Catfish and Mandala (via commovente)


"There was a time when mapmakers named the places they travelled through with the names of lovers rather than their own."

— Michael Ondaatje, The English Patient  (via thatkindofwoman)

(Source: oust, via lived)


"My heart didn’t break into a thousand pieces after he left. Instead, I realized all the things he didn’t do. He didn’t want to hear my stories. He didn’t ask me questions. He didn’t smile when I was talking to him. He didn’t hug me out of the blue to make me feel good. His hugs were always a preamble to something else and after he was gone, I wondered if he ever knew me at all."

— Diane Les Becquets (via wordsthat-speak)

(via wordsthat-speak)



The romantic soulmate is only one aspect of this notion. 
     Never forget that. 

this is so beautiful and perfect…



stop romanticizing unhealthy relationships.

stop thinking you can change someone. you can’t. they need to change for themselves.

stop romanticizing the idea of you two being together some day. if it isn’t happening now, let it go. 

no more pouring your heart out for someone who gives you little to no reciprocation. 

find someone who values your long letters and passionate attempts. this person will reciprocate, with twice as much fire.

(via clickbreatheclick)


"I want to be in a relationship where you telling me you love me is just a ceremonious validation of what you already show me."

— Steve Maraboli, Life, the Truth, and Being Free (via hqlines)

(via aloofshahbanou)



I can write the saddest poem of all tonight.

Write, for instance: “The night is full of stars,
and the stars, blue, shiver in the distance.”

The night wind whirls in the sky and sings.

I can write the saddest poem of all tonight.
I loved her, and sometimes she loved me too.

On nights like this, I held her in my arms.
I kissed her so many times under the infinite sky.

She loved me, sometimes I loved her.
How could I not have loved her large, still eyes?

I can write the saddest poem of all tonight.
To think I don’t have her. To feel that I’ve lost her.

To hear the immense night, more immense without her.
And the poem falls to the soul as dew to grass.

What does it matter that my love couldn’t keep her.
The night is full of stars and she is not with me.

That’s all. Far away, someone sings. Far away.
My soul is lost without her.

As if to bring her near, my eyes search for her.
My heart searches for her and she is not with me.

The same night that whitens the same trees.
We, we who were, we are the same no longer.

I no longer love her, true, but how much I loved her.
My voice searched the wind to touch her ear.

Someone else’s. She will be someone else’s. As she once
belonged to my kisses.
Her voice, her light body. Her infinite eyes.

I no longer love her, true, but perhaps I love her.
Love is so short and oblivion so long.

Because on nights like this I held her in my arms,
my soul is lost without her.

Although this may be the last pain she causes me,
and this may be the last poem I write for her.


— Pablo Neruda, “Saddest Poem” (via commovente)


"I only want this with you."

The Six Word Love Story #79 (via thesixwordlovestory)

(via thesixwordlovestory)