“What do you think true heartbreak feels like? And when I say true heartbreak, I mean the real heartbreak- not only what people pretend to feel when they’ve watched a sad movie and think that it’s poetic and nice.” she looked at her friend who had been stirring her coffee for minutes now. She wouldn’t meet her eyes. “I think more than anything, it just feels empty. No matter what situation you are in, it’s always the emptiness that hurts most. You can’t call that person to tell them about your day, and even if you didn’t even have them to begin with, you have no one to hope for any longer. And then there’s the self doubt; you begin thinking that you weren’t good enough for that person, even if everyone keeps telling you otherwise. And you watch them live their life, and no matter if they’re happy or not with how everything turned out, you will always find yourself wishing for one last time of everything. You will search for the exact color of their eyes when you look at other people, you will keep listening to their favorite song until it's tattoed into your brain. You will go to all the places you used to go to together and turn around and they won’t be there. You’ll see their mother in the supermarket and you’ll be too scared to say hello. And the worst thing is, you won’t break down on the bathroom floor at 2AM and scream their name into your towel over and over- you will find yourself thinking of their voice when you are at university or at the train station and for a second you will be so sure that you’re hearing it, that they’re right next to you. But then you’ll turn around and face strangers wondering why the hell you are crying at the train station on a Monday afternoon.” She looked at her friend who had asked the question what felt like centuries ago, and she caught tears in her eyes. “This isn’t how every heartbreak feels. Everyone feels it differently. But this was mine.”
excerpt from a book I’ll never write
e.e.
(via wordsparkle)
i write so much better when my heart is broken, maybe some people are meant to hurt so they can create beautiful things
o
there’s a ten year old boy in my high school honors math class who speaks six different languages.
““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.””
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do you ever get sad over something that happened a long time ago because i do