I want every piece of me to crash into every piece of you,
I swear to god that’s how they make stars.
—Mary Lambert, from Sarasvatī  (via loveless-people)
You’re in a car with a beautiful boy, and he won’t tell you that he loves you, but he loves you. And you feel like you’ve done something terrible, like robbed a liquor store, or swallowed pills, or shoveled yourself a grave in the dirt, and you’re tired. You’re in a car with a beautiful boy, and you’re trying not to tell him that you love him, and you’re trying to choke down the feeling, and you’re trembling, but he reaches over and he touches you, like a prayer for which no words exist, and you feel your heart taking root in your body, like you’ve discovered something you didn’t even have a name for.
—(via 5000letters)

faulty heart, flickering heart
never-says-what-it-means heart
creaking heart, swelling heart
doesn’t-know-how-to-beat heart

tired heart, quiet heart
when-does-it-get-to-rest heart
pitied heart, inhabited heart
never-belongs-to-itself heart

selfish heart, screaming heart
doesn’t-know-what-is-next heart
hollow heart, drowning heart
maybe-it-won’t-survive heart

heart like an abandoned house
heart like a car crash
heart like a coffin
heart like a tomb

heart like lay your love to rest here
lay your love to rest

—Fortesa Latifi - Lay Your Love to Rest after Heart Poem by Kristina Haynes aka @fleurishes (via madgirlf)



You are not the hot
sweet mess of a first
love, you are the
need-quenching cool
of water for a thirsty
traveler, and this is
why you’re so scary:

I can survive without
sugar, but I can’t live
without water.

I wish that you would press
me against the front door
as soon as it closed, feeling
my body with hands that
haven’t yet warmed from the
cold. I think you would taste
like salt. I think you would leave
your eyes open. I wonder what
your breath tastes like when it
moans. I wonder if you wonder
this about me.
anne, bolder (via anneisrestless)
I spend the morning covered
in ink trying to put you on
paper; you as the city that I
love, you as an early spring,
you as perfectly blended
water colors. I try to write
about intentions. I try to write
without using your name or
body. I let myself go thirsty
as a reminder that when you
are out of sight, you are
never out of mind.
anne, you as an unfinished poem (via anneisrestless)
I’m always going to worry about
you; I’m always going to stay up
biting my nails until I know you’re
in your own four walls. I know you
can take care of yourself. This has
nothing to do with your ability to
hold the sky up; it has everything
to do with the way my heart loves
so fiercely that, no matter how
unlikely, your disappearance
would destroy me.
anne, worry (via anneisrestless)
This is all wrong, this is all
wrong. God didn’t mean for
us to be this unhappy, I’m
sure of it. We fall asleep next
to the wrong people with our
hearts living in the secret
closets of the people we
were actually made for.
anne, religion and ‘right’ love (via anneisrestless)
We have our faces pressed against
the glass, our cheeks as close as
they’ll go. I tried to dig my way to you
one night when holding onto a phone
instead of your hand just wasn’t
enough. On the other side of the
wall: happiness. On the other side
of the wall: love. You know what?
Fuck long distance and fuck oceans
and airplanes and timezones. I think
we could be something if we were
in the same room, or even the same
country. But this - this thing that’s so
close I can smell it but not have it -
it’s killing me. At least other people’s
heartbreak leaves a taste in their
mouth; I don’t even know what it’s
like to feel you on my tongue.
anne, long distance (via anneisrestless)