i love you to the moon and back

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savanitabonita:

hopefor-thehopeless:

you’re probably going to dance with another girl who will taste like fresh picked strawberries and smell like flowers blossom in her hair
and you’re probably going to choke down 5 shots of straight vodka and get the thought of me out of your head and focus on the girl dancing with you who wants to be your apple pie but you can’t see the diamonds in her eyes because you’re staring at the ones hanging around her neck and you can’t feel her pull you in closer because she’s reaching farther behind your head of dark hair and tapping shoulders of random guys she’s never even met
and when this happens I hope you run to the dingy bathroom and splash your face with dirty water and vomit up the words you never said because while you’re out drowning your heart in things I shouldn’t care about I’m here looking at the moon whispering how much I fucking love you
and if you take her home I swear to God the moonlight will keep you awake no matter what time it is and you’ll watch it shine across your bedroom floor where we danced and laughed and I almost told you that you are my night sky
and I hope the light catches your attention more than the sight of her would and I hope when you wake up all your remember is that roses are my favourite scented flower and you can’t escape the light of the moon

I’m in the kind of mood where reading this made me cry.

burgrs:

in 9th grade i was getting picked on in class and this girl was like “fuck you guys leave him alone” and called me over to her seat and I was like “thx lol” and she was like “I have something special to show you don’t tell the teacher” and I said “ok” and she pulled a guinea pig out of her purse 

(via asian)

sceptre:

when you see your best friend hanging out with someone you hate

image

(Source: SCEPTRE, via liightup)

It’s not that I don’t love you. It’s the sound I heard when I was 9 and my father slammed the front door so hard behind him I swear to god it shook the whole house. For the next 3 years I watched my mother break her teeth on vodka bottles. I think she stopped breathing when he left. I think part of her died. I think he took her heart with him when he walked out. Her chest is empty, just a shattered mess or cracked ribs and depression pills.

It’s not that I don’t love you. It’s all the blood in the sink. It’s the night that I spent 12 hours in the emergency room waiting to see if my sister was going to be okay, after the boy she loved, told her he didn’t love her anymore. It’s the crying, and the fluorescent lights, and white sneakers and pale faces and shaky breaths and blood. So much blood.

It’s not that I don’t love you. It’s the time that I had to stay up for two days straight with my best friend while she cried and shrieked and threw up on my bedroom floor because her boyfriend fucked his ex. I swear to god she still has tear streaks stained onto her cheeks. I think when you love someone, it never really goes away.

It’s not that I don’t love you. It’s the six weeks we had a substitute in English because our teacher was getting divorced and couldn’t handle getting out of bed. When she came back she was smiling. But her hands shook so hard when she held her coffee, you could see that something was broken inside. And sometimes when things break, you can’t fix them. Nothing ever goes back to how it was. I got an A in English that year. I think her head was always spinning too hard to read any essays.

It’s not that I don’t love you. It’s that I do.

It’s not that I don’t love you.  (via extrasad)

this gave me crazy chills.

(via purplexity)

(via colourmehappy2)

majortvjunkie:

how may I help you today? we have a sale on men’s cardigans perfect for the fall weathe

ribbu:

there’s a special place in hell reserved just for me

it’s called the throne

(via asian)

THEME.