I guess when you really think about it dreams don’t come true. We sit and hope and cling to things we think our tangible because we don’t know what else to do with ourselves. Its kind of like when you were little and you’d look up at the stars and stare because there were so many dots in the sky. The lights sparkled down and touched your nose and you’d giggle because you had so many possibilities. 

What happened to the possibilities I wonder. 

I wonder what happened to the little girl that looked at the lights in the sky and smiled and laughed and played without a care because we didn’t need to care back then. 

So what are dreams? They must be like the millions of billions of stars that would tickled our noses. We couldn’t really feel the stars but the stars felt us and it wasn’t real we just looked at them right?

So dreams aren’t that tangible. Just like the lights.

Why can’t you just love me back
Back when it was kisses and butterflies and unicorns and nothing was to impossible
Back when I was whole because I had you and you were all I needed
You, because I thought you were the sun and the moon and the stars and you made me feel things I never felt before
Before it was difficult to believe whatever I wanted to believe in because I had you and I was pure and innocent
Innocence, my innocence is gone because I trusted you and believe you wouldn’t hurt me but you hurt me and now I can’t feel the same
Same, when we felt the same things and I thought we dreamt the same dreams
Dreams, intangible, impossible things. We had the same hopes and wishes or at least I thought we did I thought everything was perfect
Perfect because the thought that you loved me despite my imperfections was to much to bare so I clung to you
You.
You wrecked me in the best and worst ways possible and now I don’t know how to feel
Feel.
How do I feel anything when you continue to feel everything without a care
Just a fabricated relationship whether that was me or it was you I don’t know
But now I know don’t trust the guy that seems perfect because he’ll torture you in the worst way possible.
With his love.

I remember your lips on mine
I remember the way you made me blush
I remember the nights were it was just us
I remember your breath on my neck
I remember the way your voice sounded when you told me you loved me
I remember every little detail about you
I remember how it felt when you said goodbye
I remember every little lie
How fabricated our relationship had become because you got bored and wanted to feel someone else’s lips on yours
You stopped caring
I haven’t stopped crying

He eyes mesmerized you, he’s words melted you, he made you believe that you were special. But what’s so special about a girl who believed so hard in a boy that took her and wrecked her. That broke her heart in a million pieces. Now that girl is lying on her bathroom floor, wrecked and broken, relying on a liquor cabinet to love her

Where were you
When I was falling
Cause you didn’t catch me
Like I hoped you would

Where were you
When I was crying
Tears streaming down my face
Pill bottle shaking because I couldn’t breathe
You didn’t save me
Like I hoped you would

Where are you
As I lay down here
In a hospital bed
Antiseptic and white tiles
Pain written in the walls in invisible ink
You let me down and I wanted to think
That you were different but no you weren’t
You’re not here
Like I hoped you would be.

dostthou:

Writers are forgetful,

but they remember everything.
They forget appointments and anniversaries,
but remember what you wore,
how you smelled,
on your first date…
They remember every story you’ve ever told them -
like ever,
but forget what you’ve just said.
They don’t remember to water the plants
or take out the trash,
but they don’t forget how
to make you laugh.

Writers are forgetful
because
they’re busy
remembering
the important things.

Oh, my heart is melting.