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No One Can Love Me Any Better, You See


staff note: from start to finish this is lovely. Although, this line really caught my attention: “I have to stop treating you like air”


You are recreating the Grand Canyon on my skin with every kiss you imprint on my scars. The icicles in my stomach keep on melting when you hold me against the fireplace in your chest. I can’t stop holding my breaths as I take you in piece by piece. And these breaths are clutching to my throat as I place your name in my sternum, as I try to meddle with the submissive love I have for you in my spine. I have to stop treating you like air, but I can’t. I am going to keep tugging the wrinkled end of your white shirt, asking you to never leave me in the void, and praying for you to catch me beside streetlamps and sunsets. I am counting your footsteps, memorizing every sad page of your life, and taking out the shredded molecules in you with the desire that you stay here.

I have flimsy arms, and I might drop you; but remember that above all, I love you. And it’s an everyday reflex to love you more.

Your name is a wake up call, and I can’t even remember the last time I had a nightmare—because ever since you came around, dressed with so much sunlight I can barely see the clouds shivering in utter ambiguity, every dread in my bones collapsed. You are a refuge amid a snowstorm.

They say that we continuously seek for warmth in our lives, and I think I have settled with the home built in your heart. We are on runways, and we keep wanting to take off together. And I guess that is what makes us indescribably inscribed on each other’s skins.

It takes lifetimes to nail down the impeccable way towards loving you. But I don’t mind. 

I always thought dating your best friend/friend would be a good thing.  You’d know who they are, you could talk about things as only friends can do.  But sometimes it sucks when you are upset and realize you want to talk to them and then realize that they are why you are upset in the first place.  

I don’t know if this is just an issue for people who date and then become friends as they are dating.  Or if this would happen to people who were established friends and then dated years or so after.  You’d think after getting to really know someone as a friend that you’d be able to talk to them as a friend always.  But I’m not sure and really don’t know.  I only have the experience of becoming friends after the dating starts, and I know that when it’s happy that’s wonderful, but when you fight, it really does suck.

Also, maybe it’s just me, but I don’t think you can get to really know someone as deeply as you would a best friend if you start off as dating first.  I, at least, relate to people I’m in a relationship with differently.  Mostly in ways I’m discovering I don’t like.  There’s so much sense of obligation, unspoken and often even unconscious.  I don’t like it.  I just want to be friends with someone.  To be myself.  To be loved, if I am, for that and that only.  Not my relationship to someone, or what I do for them.  To not have all the expectations, and rules.  To just be me, and to have someone else say, “Hey, that’s an awesome thing you have going on there, let’s hang out.”  And if I feel the same way, then it’s a thing.  And they can be them, and I can be me, and together we can sometimes hang out and share things and life.  

Fuck all those other expectations.  I don’t want to have to meet them for you.  And I also don’t want to have them for you, to make you feel responsible somehow for me and my happiness, or to feel disappointed if you don’t meet them.

I am so disillusioned with the modern idea of love right now.



"You should date me." 


She doesn’t look away from her mirror, where her face is scrunched in concentration, twining her rich red hair into thick plaits. She doesn’t turn to him, doesn’t offer any explanation. Just no. 

"Why not?" 

He’s a masochist. He knows this. But he needs to know. Needs to. Because it can’t be that she’s finds him unattractive— she’s kissed him several times, let her hands trail over his back and shoulders and down his chest. Granted, it’s never been more than kissing and tame groping— always above the belt, except the one time he’d gotten bold and slipped a hand down to squeeze her ass and she’d pulled back, slapped him, and resumed talking about the Yankees as if they hadn’t just been kissing for several long minutes. 

She finds him attractive, he knows. He sees it in the way she’ll let her eyes roam over his body, slow and appraising, before meeting his gaze and nodding sweetly. She checks him out. She’s told him that he’s hot and gorgeous and all the things any man wants to hear a beautiful woman tell him. 

And she is beautiful. Long red, red, red hair, the perfect combination of soft waves and loose curls. Bright hazel eyes that were sometimes green, and sometimes brown, and sometimes gold. Lovely long legs, and full breasts, and shapely curves. Thick lashes and soft lips. She is beyond beautiful, but that’s not why he wants to date her.

Well. That’s not the sole reason. 

It’s her. Her in her entirety. Her loud laugh, warm and bright and freely given. Her fierce anger and swift temper, ready to fight for whatever she wants. Her loyal friendship and brutal honesty. He loves her because she’s his friend, because she’s the best friend he could have ever asked for, even though he never asked for her at all. She just showed up one day, sat next to him, said something sarcastic, and that was the end of it. He was hers. 

She looks at him now, her hazel eyes locking with his grey ones and for a moment she looks torturously sad. 

"Because I don’t love you. Not like you love me. You sit here and catalog my every move, watch my every reaction, imagine reaching over and touching me as though I were yours." 

"I’m yours," he interrupts, and she shakes her head, a frown on her face. 

"I know. But I’m not yours. And I never wanted you to be mine. I never asked for you."

"I never asked for you," he counters. 

She smirks at him. 

"Yes, you did. What do you call asking me to date you?" 

"Asking to spend time with you… to see…" He trails off. 

She moves to stand closer to him, cups his face between her hands. 

"And there’s our difference," she says, pressing a kiss to his cheek.

"What’s that?" He’s momentarily distracted by her perfume: vanilla, and spice, and something a little sharper and peppery. 

"I couldn’t ever just seeI’m either someone’s or I’m not.” 

"That’s a pretty unhealthy way of approaching it."

She laughs. 

"Hypocrite. Didn’t you just say you were mine? You committed yourself to me without another thought. And now you’re mad I won’t do the same. You’re careless." 

"And you’re too careful."

"I’m not." She sounds sad now. "If I were careful, I’d be yours. I’d be with the person who loved me unconditionally, who loved me more than I loved him, who’d never hurt me or leave me. But I’m not careful. I’m careless."


"I give love only where I’m sure I’ll never have to try too hard to keep it. I give love only when I know I won’t have to be someone’s. I don’t trust anyone enough to belong to them."

"Then you belong to yourself." 

"No," she says, and he can see unshed tears glistening in her eyes. "I trust myself least of all." 

Day Eight: Partners


There was once a time, in which I was a Queen. I was fair and gentle. I did not have a King, and I came by my throne at a young age. I had no brothers, or sisters.

I was once a King, a long time ago. I was fair and just. I did not have a Queen, and I came by my throne at a respectable age. I had many brothers and many sisters.

As Queen I was the Mother of my people. I was, always, a slave to my nation before I was the Queen of my heart. And then I met a man.

As a King I was the Father of my people. My younger siblings came before me, and before them came the state. And then I saw that woman.

He was from a kingdom close to mine, one that had never really been all that important. Neutral, I suppose, you could say. He was older than I was. He had many brothers and sisters. My advisors thought that perhaps it would be a good idea to marry one of those princes. To take one of those princesses as one of my ladies in waiting. They never said anything about the king. Fair, just, and amiable, he may be.

She was from a kingdom close to the borders of my own. Aside from some trade agreements, we had nothing tying us together. She was very young, to me. She seemed small on that throne of hers, and my advisors told me to watch over her. To send my brothers after her hand, to send my sisters after her favor. They never said anything about the Queen. Gentle, kind, and temperate she may be.

I did not intend to ever wed, and gain a husband.

I did not intend to ever wed, and gain a wife.

We were married in Spring – and there were flowers in the blue-sky, pink and white and red, to celebrate the union of our domains. It was a beautiful wedding, I suppose. The wedding night was alright as well. There was no option for it to be anything otherwise.

He is strong, and he is well-tempered, for a man of his position. He is neither overly loud, nor overly aggressive or confident. He is well balanced, and he compliments my own temper well. He is gentle of hand and considerate of word. He is like a brother to me.

She is graceful, and she is very wise, for a woman of her age. She is neither overly excitable, nor overly anxious or emotional. She suits me well, and understands my moods. She is guiding in her manners and exemplary in her patience. She is like a sister to me.

We have no children, aside from our people and our nation. It is not hard for our two countries to get along. Even when their monarchs must spend one season in one capitol, and another season in another. There are talks of placing a new capitol in between, a new castle. A new city. New. We aren’t certain if it’s a good idea. But if it is what the people want, then we shall give it to them.

His brothers are charming, and his sisters are good company. They are my family. I love them all equally. I love them all. Equally.

She gets along well with my siblings, and they make a pretty picture, together. They are my family. I love each of them equally. I love each of them. Equally.

We make love only as much as expectation dictates. It would not do if people were to talk – it is not fair to each other, as well. We find each other fairly attractive. And there is no problem in compatibility. We love each other, greatly. But we do not lust.

He is my companion, and my soul-mate. Over the years I have grown to understand that. He knows the turns my mind takes, and he knows where I walk and where I wander when those thoughts carry me away. He knows when to keep his silence, and he knows when to take my hand. I love him with so much of everything I am. And I know he loves me, in much the same way.

She is my partner, and my soul-mate. During the time we have been together, I have grown to embrace that. She knows the worries that have started to make my hair turn gray, and she knows how to brush them aside or air them out where we may speak of them. But she also knows when to leave them be, and to let me worry them to pieces. She knows when to fall into step beside me, as I pace, and she knows when to stand back and wait me out. I love her with all my heart, and I feel that she thinks the same of me.

I am honored to have this person by my side.

We have grown old together, and watched our nations prosper. Our nations are now one, and the people are now one. And we have loved each other without loving each other through it all. We warm each other’s beds at night, with whispered words of joy and pride in what we have accomplished. We hold on tightly to our dreams, and our dreams are the same.

He is my best friend.

She is my best friend.

And these are our people.


Something I’ve Been Meaning to Say



I hope you find happiness in this life,
because I know that it was a difficult one.
I hope you live as long as you need to
and the path you choose is relatively smooth.

I really hoped that our roads would merge
instead of brutally and heartbreakingly diverge,
but now I can only dream of a quick end,
because there’s only so much I can write
about fate and destiny and how you’re not mine.

I hope you’ll be willing to try again in the next life,
because I bet we tried before, be we were close this time,
and next time will be better, next time will be better.
Tell me how we could ever come back from this.
I believe in second chances, but maybe I don’t get one,
so I hope you can give me another first in whatever comes next.

I daydream of meeting you for the first time
over and over again, with brighter eyes and fresher minds
and with each happy accident I’ll get a little better
at loving you the way you need me to.
It’s such a shame, and no one’s to blame for this,
but I’m so tired of struggling just to know you,
especially when you tell me I still don’t and never will.
Now I’m just (living) writing, because still I’ve got time to kill.

Goes with the previous post.

I’m kind of sick of being sad.  Of loving people who I can’t be with.  Of being frustrated with so many things now.  If only I could control my heart and its feelings.

(Source: concupiscentreminiscent)



Memories of the past, you and me, are corrupted by the wisdom I have, wisdom I didn’t have back then. I hardly think about you,  but when I do, I always wind up mulling over the idea that we met ahead of our time. The end was meant to be the beginning, but I suppose life is like that at times. I chalk it up to immaturity on your part, and plain stupidity on mine. Time has changed all that, I hope. It’s a shame that time can be so stubborn, because I wouldn’t mind going back to that moment as we are now. For only in that moment do I see us together. After that, my life became complicated. I razed my heart, cleared the space I had turned into your home. It has taken years, but my heart is full again. And, as sweet as the memories are, there isn’t room for you anymore.

Doesn’t this suck when it happens?  When it just feels like the timing was just slightly off.  And so things just never were, or never were all they could be.

Be with her because you actually want to be with her, because you actually see a potential future with her, not because you are used to being with her, not because you’re scared of the thought that being without them will ruin you. The point of being in a relationship is to enjoy each other’s company, is to be there to support each other when they need it most. No one person, defines who you are. They only compliment you.

Marvin King  (via ccc0urtney)


(via itsonlyyforever)

(Source: modernmethadone)

someone can be madly in love with you and still not be ready. they can love you in a way you have never been loved and still not join you on the bridge. and whatever their reasons you must leave. because you never ever have to inspire anyone to meet you on the bridge. you never ever have to convince someone to do the work to be ready. there is more extraordinary love, more love that you have never seen, out here in this wide and wild universe. and there is the love that will be ready.
nayyirah waheed (via nayyirahwaheed)

The idea of love makes me sad.  I used to believe in love like this, I’m not so sure anymore.

Art creates such beautiful things.  Is it art that imitates life, trying to breathe life into creations mirroring the things we know and love?  Or does life imitate art, trying so desperately to make these beautiful ideas we create into reality?

For me, the world inside of my head (including my vision of myself) has never matched the world I see around me.  The world inside my head is infinitely beautiful and something I cannot find the words to express.  I want to express this, but it seems no one can see through my eyes.  I wonder if the things I dream of are even remotely possible and long for the day when perhaps another might see like I see and I can share this other world with them.  

Though that’s quite possibly just another fantasy.

(Source: rrrosetyler)

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