|—||Vincent Freeman, Gattaca (via teaberryleaves)|
are a child playing with matches and I have a paper body.
You will meet a girl with a softer voice and stronger arms and she
will not have violent secrets or an affection for red wine or eyes
that never stay dry. You will fall into her bed and I’ll go back
to spending Friday nights with boys who never learn my last name.
I have chased off every fool who has tried to sleep beside me
You think it’s romantic to fuck the girl who writes poems about you.
You think I’ll understand your sadness because I live inside my own.
But I will show up at your door at 2 am, wild-eyed and sleepless.
and try and find some semblance of peace in your breastbone
and you will not let me in. You will tell me to go home.
|—||Clementine von Radics (via twinfawn)|
|—||Humans of New York (via ianception)|
While you sit alone.
No one is there
To make your house a home.
|—||Cecelia Weir, “O So Lonely” (via larmoyante)|
We are as lonely as the night; despite the gentle kiss of sunlight, or the sea of masks that we drift along. But, in you I found company. Laughs and ballads that carried us to a home only we could find. When she came along, without having left, you lost all that was said. I tried every language and still you misunderstood. Barriers return and isolation tears me down. Still, all that is left I leave to you because it is only you that I have eyes for; which you could see, if you weren’t always watching her.