I could never hate you as much as I love you.

“I know what I want.”
“Sure. But do you know what you can handle?” 

but unfortunately there is pain that goes far too deep

Finally, you whispered 
into my ear and said
that what doesn’t kill me
will only make me stronger...
I think this might kill me.  

I can feel you forgetting me
But I know it isn’t fair to ask 
you to remember me
because if remembering me
is as painful to you as it is
to me, then how dare I ask of
you to take part in this 
self-inflicted destruction 

Is it really that it
hurts to love
or is it that I
love to hurt? 

You can’t just sit there and put everybody’s lives ahead of yours and think that counts as love.

I hated knowing what I wanted and knowing what was right and knowing they weren’t the same thing.

You know, you’re just one broken heart closer to a love that won’t break your heart.”

These choices are not yours to make
Despite however much you might desire them to be so

“I love you,” she whispered
Time and time again
So many times that soon enough
That simple phrase became
A mere pile of empty words

But, “You can never love someone as much as you can miss someone.”
You can miss someone because they’re far away, because distance separates you. You can miss someone because you haven’t seen them in years. You can miss someone because you know that no matter how much you want them to, they won’t be here next year. You can miss someone when they’ve passed away. You can miss someone because they have a busy life that hasn’t permitted you to have even an hour with said individual. You can miss someone because they’re away for a while and you’re eagerly waiting their return. You can miss someone as you gaze upon them from a distance. You can miss someone when they’re sitting right next to you. You can miss someone while carrying a conversation with them. You can miss the people that your loved ones used to be.

Wanting to love is different than loving, and I’m scared I may spend my whole life wanting to love instead of actually doing it.
I hope to the heavens I prove myself wrong.

If this is what you think love is,
No wonder you’ve no definition of hate.

    What would you do
                                                 If you knew
                                                This was my last night
                                                On Earth?

And why is it that I’d have to be dying for you to care?

I have come to see the world very differently from this point at the edge of the cliff, living on the fine line that divides life and death but not choosing either.

Paintbrushes and pastels do not create artwork, and a shotgun alone does not kill.

The world is a stage, but the play is badly cast.

Sometimes we need people in ways almost deemed unimaginable.
And when they leave, it’s never the same again.

No matter how much a thing is hurting us
Sometimes it hurts more to let it go

We want too much. From others. From life. From ourselves.

Memories are like open wounds
You’ve got to bandage them up or else you may accidently brush your bare skin against your surroundings and the wound will begin bleeding again. Or perhaps you will find yourself tempted to trace the wound with your fingertips, and in doing so, bring further pain to yourself.

What is “I want you,”
If you want everything else?
What is “I miss you,”
If I never cross your mind?
What is “I need you,”
If you can live without me?
What is “I love you,”
If you clearly don’t?

This isn’t something you can just forget. This isn’t something you can just ignore. This is real. I am not okay. I need you to believe in me, for once. Please? Listen to me. Hear me cry. Look deeper and you will see the truth.  I need you. Why won’t you be there for me, like you said you would always be?

Life is what happens to you when you’re making other plans

You will love
But you will not always be loved
You will hate
But you will not always be hated
You will give up everything for someone
And that someone may not give anything at all for you

What do you do when you’re done with living
But you are still alive
I don’t want to kill myself
But I just can’t survive

I love people too much.

I love them and I love them and I love them until I love them so much that my soul collapses.
And then I pretend to hate them.
I pretend to hate them and hate them and hate them until I can convince myself of some kind of negative emotion towards them.
But that’s not true, really.

I love them.
I love them so much.
Too much.

You’re always one moment away from doing something that you swore you’d never do.

You were right
I’m far too dependent on others and my inclination to hold on to people for the sake of holding on is destroying me.

I’ve got to stop hoping, dreaming, believing 
What good have any of those ever done for me?

Sometimes people walk into our lives and we’re certain that nothing will ever be the same again
Because they’ve changed who you are and what you believe, sometimes for the better and sometimes for the worse.

I was not asking you to come an inch closer but I begged you not to go.

I make no apologies for how I chose to repair what you broke

 Love me, because love doesn’t exist, and I have tried everything that does.

 you know very well that I love you.
So please don’t tell me that I don’t.
You  mean too much to me for that, don’t you see?
We’ve been through far too much together for me to toss that away like a paper airplane. I love you. I care about you. So much. So fucking much.

I’m too hungry to eat, too tired to sleep, too hopeful to dream, and too thoughtful to seem

Parents: What foreign language class are you taking this year?
Me: Math.

I’d do so much for my loved ones.
I’d carve their name into a mountain with my bare hands if I had to.
I’d do anything.
But, it doesn’t always feel like that’s returned. 
I’d give, say, do everything they needed without a second’s hesitation.
And sometimes it feels like they’d have to stop and consider it for a few days and maybe not even then.
Am I really that unworthy?

re fucking blog oh my fucking oh shit

Just in case you ever foolishly forget; I’m never not thinking of you."

Like most misery, it started off with apparent happiness

“It’s not who you are that holds you back. It’s who you think you’re not.”

Sometimes I think I’d just rather not feel.
Emotions are far too overwhelming.

Home is where you aren’t judged for being yourself.
In that case, I’m not home, am I?

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