A Process I’m Still Stuck In

„If you’re not going to get any wiser, what’s the point of getting older?”

You couldn’t give me the love I deserved

You hurt me really bad without regretting a single one of your moves

But I’ve learned that that’s okay

You broke me and had fun with it

I’ve grown from it, you’re still stuck

I won

~ excerpts of me moving on ~

Wonders

Lilac skies

Fading into snow sprinkled mountains

Soft winds

Making their way up the valley

The smell after rain

Blessing my lungs as I slowly breathe

In the middle of nowhere

As if I were the only person on this planet

And as I am standing here

Admiring the world we live in

Finding beauty in every single piece of nature

Surrounded by countless little wonders

All I can think about

Is you

~ honestlywhatfor ~

I have drafts of poetry in my phone I won’t ever finish

Words I started writing when times were different

I won’t ever get to finish them because everything turned out different than the thoughts of the past anticipated it

Not better, not worse

But different

So I now have drafts of poetry in my phone that I can’t finish

Because out of all the “what ifs”, fate chose the one I was most scared of

And the words that were written in the past are to delicate to be burdened by destiny’s cruel choices of today

We love each other

neither one of us wants to admit it, but

in the weirdest way possible

we love each other

~ honestlywhatfor ~

Why am I like this

Sometimes I open tumblr because I feel like writing. And then I sit and stare at the blank canvas that longs to be filled by my thoughts but I just...can’t. I can’t. And it makes me angry. I want to write something, I need to write something, but trying to pin down the words that are constantly circling around my head makes me realize that I don’t have a f*vking clue.

I don’t know

Anything

I’m lost in my own mind and the longer I stare at the letters in front of me the harder it gets to come back up and breathe fresh air.

I don’t know

Anything

At all

And I can’t help but hate the words that make it onto the pages because they are not what I want them to be and they make me believe things that aren’t there and

Damn

I really don’t know

Anything

At all

Or at least that’s what this post makes me believe.

I wish I were Heather

I wish I were Heather. That’s not her name but now everyone knows what I mean since Conan Gray explained it to us.

I wish I were her. Not only because she is one of the prettiest human beings I’ve ever seen and not because she is just as nice as an angel and vibes positivity, but because someone told me how you are feeling about her.

“He’s in love with her.” I guess that sentence will reverberate in my mind for quite some time. I still remember feeling the sadness crawling up my throat and stopping me from breathing. Gasping as the pain slowly sunk into my bones. That’s where it’s still sitting right now.

I wish I were her. Not only because she is closer to your age and she has already been friends with the people you hang out with before they even knew me and not because she lives closer to town so you somehow always end up at hers whenever you don’t have a ride home, but because I feel you drifting away from me while you seem to be getting closer to her.

I know you love me. Your brother basically tried to tattoo that onto my forehead because he knows how much I doubt it sometimes and how easy it is for me to put myself down. But I don’t think you know it.

What you know is that your sisters love me. The little one begging the older one to convince you to marry me one day and the older one telling me, smiling and nodding her head, that she can see it as well and she is praying that you won’t fuck it up. You know that.

You know that your brother loves me. Not as much as your ex, but “super fucking close” as he always says. I get it, he’s best friends with her so I totally get it. And I am thankful for your brother because he is the mental support I need whenever I feel stuck with our situation. He’ll tell me you love me, he’ll tell me your family loves me and he’ll tell me that he loves me most. Because he likes the you that you are when I’m around and he thanks me for making you happy again after such a dark time in your life.

And as much as they tell me that you love me I still wish I were her. Because as much as I loved seeing how happy you are with me, the more it breaks my heart to see how your eyes sparkle around her.

I loved building you up and I loved how you helped me to build up myself again, but I guess it’s her turn now. She gets what I built.

That’s why I wish I were her.

...

...

And to add something that fits with Conan Grays song a little bit more: I once took your sweater when you gave me your keys to go get the wine and when I came back and you saw me in your sweater, you said I looked like the smallest bean you’ve ever seen and threw me over your shoulder. We laughed. We were happy...You never gave her your sweater, the one you left me was cotton, not polyester. I still wish I were Heather.

Fragile Pieces

Trust is a fragile piece of paper

And you seem to have a hole puncher in your back pocket at all times

A lighter at hand as well

Punching, ripping, burning my once whole paper

Leaving me with a sad little snippet

A little crumpled up, even after a lot of smoothing

There’s this pathetic peace of paper I’m holding onto

It’s not much

And it won’t last forever

But I won’t give up

Because I can still read the words

Scrawled in your handwriting

“I love you”

Trust is a fragile piece of paper

And as long as it’s marked by you

My pitiful peace of paper

Will stay with me

At all times

Sweet dreams

I’m laying here, awake. It’s the middle of the night and I don’t know how but I thought I heard your voice and so I woke up. Now I’m laying here, thinking. I don’t even know what it is about you, my heart loves so much. You’re great, but I don’t see why my heart thinks it’s okay to get broken day by day, instead of just letting go. I’m laying here, dreaming. Not of anything that has happened, but of everything that could still occur. Anything good, nothing of the bad stuff has a place in my dreams. At least not in the ones I’m dreaming when I’m awake. I’m awake, thinking and dreaming. I guess you’re asleep not dreaming about anything particular and when you wake up, your mind is clear. Maybe one day you’ll wake up and notice everything I’ve done for you and what you ignorant prick have put me through. But until then, sweet dreams L.

Your love hurts

I don’t know what it is about you

That makes you sabotage it every single time

Ripping craters into earth

Opening gates to what might be called hell

Standing on the edge, balanced

Grabbing my hand

Jumping

Clamped together

I never wanted to fall

Life on the edge was great

But again and again

You need us to hurt

So here we are

Falling

and falling

and falling

and falling

~ honestlywhatfor ~