Xx-Bloody-Rose-Xx

i asked my 10-year-old-self what she thought of love and she said that it exsisted to be beautiful that love was just that, love i asked my 11-year-old-self and she said it felt really good to be young and in love my 12-year-old-self said it was based on laughter 13-year-old-self said it can't be done over long distances my 14-year-old-self said "what if..." and just asked questions my 15-year-old-self said it hurt and it was too confusing my 16-year-old-self said that it was okay to love someone of the same sex and now my newly 17-year-old body says that it shouldn't hurt, that i should have let go of the girl who'll never love me bac

 Why is it i only feel good when my lips are chapped and bleeding?

V. I had that dream last night, and of course, you were there, at first it was white, blindingly so. that woman was there, like always, checking that gold thing that hangs from her waist. but something different happened. I decided to asked her why she continually decides to check that shiny thing, and why she must tease me with the glittering surface. she said that she was late. late? I asked. "yes, yes," she whispered, more to herself, "late…late".   IV. following her came more easily than I first thought. she was easy to spot, and for some reason, the guards that held me back all those times before were nowhere in sight

remember that day? you had dyed your hair the most amazing shade of red (it was almost black when shrouded by the cover of my house, but in the sunlight it was a scarlet-like cherry color). so i sat down to wait till you were done. but, with you being you, when you were finished, you decided to lay on me, not by me. and me being me, i couldn't help but wrap my legs around you and play with your hair, running my spiderfingers through the color (that oh-so-pretty color). you laid your head on my chest and listened to the steadily getting faster rhythm of my paperheart. you looked up at me with those oceans and asked, so quietly that i  had to