He’s more myself than I am. Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same.
― Emily Brontë, Wuthering Heights (via introspectivepoet)

Why can’t I be
One of those girls
Who sees your message -
I love you
Sent at 3am -
And be happy?
Why do I have to be
The kind of person
Whose stomach instantly sinks
At the thought
That one day -
You might not?

Why am I so afraid of tomorrow
When today is so damn perfect?

m.v., What it means to have trust issues.  (via findingwordsforthoughts)
Find someone who will tremble for your touch, someone whose fingers are a poem.
― Janet Fitch, White Oleander (via anamorphosis-and-isolate)

Silence is where you held me. The weight of your voice coated the air with honeysuckle; I wish it hadn’t tasted of poison.

I wish I hadn’t been so willing to drink it all.

― mozsart / “attentions” pt. III (via mozsart)