Maybe All Loves Take A Lifetime To Get Over.

He picked me once, and he might not pick me still. But he picked me once, and that'll have to be enough for this lifetime, right?

Even though it isn't

That love you lost, I promise it won’t be the last. Sometimes you’ll find it again at a friends birthday party or you’ll look up from getting a box of cereal and see it standing there. But please, don’t give up looking for the love that will always find its way back to you.

Its searching for you too (via kenzielikestowrite)

the artist’s guide to falling in love;

I. Find someone who makes your heart flutter, in a small, innocent way. Maybe it’s their cheekbones or their laugh or their music taste. Romanticise it in every way possible.

II.Fall way harder than you ever intended to. Write poetry about them and listen to songs that make you ache to remind yourself of them and pine after them in the most pathetic way possible. Reason with yourself that this is pain is good for your creativity.

III.Tell them, out loud or otherwise, but let the words slip out your lips, waterfalls, and tidal waves of destruction out of your mouth. If they don’t feel the same, go home and write poetry about rejection and revenge. Press backspace on it all and let numbness take over. If they feel the same, fall harder, the way angels do when they fall from heaven.

IV. Romanticise everything. The two freckles on their right eyebrow and their hands and fingers and the way they breathe. The way they take their coffee and the fact that they really want to spend time with you. Make yourself ache in the best way possible and occupy your mind with their smell, their favourite films, and every conversation you’ve ever had with them.

V. Watch it fall apart without really realising that it’s happening. Let yourself yell and scream and try to keep it together and remember how much you love the freckles on their eyebrow but forget that they like their coffee without milk or sugar and forget to understand. When they leave, remember they have black coffee and that you’re not enough, you’re not enough for tropical thunderstorms and summer breezes. Begin to write more poetry about heartbreak and wish you could make it stop. Dream of hurricanes and lightning.

VI. Make to do lists and begin to feel okay in the wake of their absence. Drink tea and practise self-care, see the friends you neglected, and remember that the next time you fall in love, you will understand; remember how they take their coffee and their tea, and remember to love both the freckles and the scars, inside and out. Remember to love who they are, and not just their aesthetics. Don’t just love the thunderstorm, love all of the weather that they bring.

““i won’t ask you to come back,” she says. “all i ask is that you tell me you felt it too; the love, the yearning for one another. just tell me that you were happy, even for a little while, please, tell me that i made you happy.””

—

so many people overlook the genuine love of friends. how platonic relationships sometimes are more permanent. friendships like “hang on let me send you a nude i want you to tell me if this underwear looks good”. friendships like no, don’t, the peach looks literally so much better on you, you pop in peach. friendships like dump him but i understand why it’s hard for you to let go of deep relationships so i’ll be here until you do dump him and i’ll be the only one not to say “i told you so.” friendships like call me at three in the morning because of a spider, like hey saw this and thought of you but it’s a spongebob meme, like people think we’re dating and we honestly haven’t corrected them, like tell you the truth even if it’s a hard one to hear, like trust you with my life. friendships like wait i have the perfect outfit for you to wear on your date i’m driving the 45 minutes so we can play dressup and talk about flirting. like i know when to comfort you and when to distract you. like you’re kind of my favorite person but like also don’t tell anyone i said that i will deny it you’re gross and a jerk. like i know you’re sad come over i made cider and halloweentown is queued up and ready to go. like i will use your body as a shield between myself and the scary movie but i have also jumped someone for speaking badly to you. like you’ve been my rock my sword and the person who drags my drunk ass home. like that love that’s just two people who can sit in a room together with a bottle of wine in our bodies talking about how directors make poor color choices in movies. that’s love. don’t write it off because they don’t make movies around it. but that’s love.

“So, this is my life. And I want you to know that I am both happy and sad and I’m still trying to figure out how that could be.”

— Stephen Chbosky, The Perks of Being a Wallflower

It’s a miracle we ever met by Hallie Bateman

Your first love ending is the feeling of the car door slamming on your fingers, and as it drives away with your half-ended tendons, you can’t help but think about how beautifully the light reflects off the hood. Your first love leaving is the sound the paintbrush makes as it cracks into two pieces right before the brushstroke that makes an artwork into a masterpiece. Your first love hurting you is the rush of the water down the bathtub drain, sinking sinking sinking like a pile of stones in the pit of your stomach, before disappearing forever simply because you no longer think about it. Your final love is the feeling of a symphony orchestra playing your heartstrings like a harpsichord to the tune of the song that never fails to turn your lover’s lips upwards like a sunset that happened to flip itself on its back to reveal its pink belly to the world. Your final love is the sound of the robins singing their good mornings outside the bedroom window as you open your eyes against their neck at the crack of dawn, before pulling them closer and slipping back under. Your final love leaving is with a note that says “see you tonight for dinner, I love you, be safe” and you tuck it in your breast pocket because that’s the closest you can touch it to your heart and you start heating up the oven because you are so excited to kiss their cheeks that night.

1:28 AM: THE FUTURE (k.p.k)