lilysofthefield:

I love that you don’t know that I, sometimes, write for you, and I don’t think I’ll ever tell you. I also love how some of you are wondering if it could be you. Certain things are kept secrets for good reasons. I mean, don’t we always write for someone, even if they don’t yet exist. And who says they have to know.

poeticallyundead:

Every time I close my eyes
I only see your face

In drunken stupors
and twilight revelries
you smile is always the dawn

But beyond that longing song
heartache and regret remain
knowing that to tear down this wall
would only result in pain

I yearn for moments missed
our midnight trysts robbed without warning
waking without pain come morning

Every time I close my eyes
I only see your face

Loving me means accepting me during the process.

Will you love what is different about me?

Will you love my efforts to come?

Will you allow me to just be human?

strong some days…

frail on others…

And if I disappoint you,

Will you love me then?

Maybe craving the impossible is impossible.

we are made for each other

both of us are afraid

yet desperately longing to know each other completely

we fear and crave the impossible

Some days I need to follow my heart.

Maybe is too late to miss who I once was.
Maybe is too late to miss when there is nothing left to miss at all.

only silence…

so I was thinking, that maybe when we die we regret things done or undone, and maybe people say that they regretted they were selfish.

I never thought I was selfish, on the contrary, I always thought I give all I could. maybe that isn´t good enough.

then I realized that maybe my only mistake is not being selfish. maybe the right thing to do is being totally selfish. At least someone will be thinking of me.

Me.

It is necessary your heart in flames to keep your dreams warm.

I want my birthday cake to be like this, except from the christmas part!