theprocast:

“She is to you, like the cold pale Moon; a lonely satellite circling from her distance. Benevolent beacon clothed in darkness, she is where your dreams linger. And though absent from your days, you know, somehow, she watches still. There, on the other side of the world waiting until it all comes full circle… and she will shine for you once more.”

— Ranata Suzuki

itsmilarose:

“the truth is, i thought being in love would make me a better writer. i thought poetical things about everything and everyone around me would just flow from my fingertips. i thought i would describe sunsets as blushing pink and the way my laughter comes right from the bottom of my belly as pure. but only few can write while in love, myself not being one of them. pain inspires my art and that is the bittersweet beauty of my craft.”

— the day i fell out of love

ninasdrafts:

“because being with you is like finally turning on the light after nights spent alone in the dark. it’s like coming home after a long day and kicking off your shoes. like a steaming cup of tea that warms you from the inside. it’s like waking up to sunshine spilling into your room, the feeling of the first drop of rain trailing down your skin. it’s everything that i thought was missing in the past, that one piece i could never quite figure out. it’s realising that everything i’ve been fighting for was worth it.”

— being with you / n.j.

(via ninasdrafts)

ninasdrafts:

“And I‘m left wondering: is your heart in it? Because your hands are cold when they touch mine and your smile never reaches your eyes. Because words you don’t mean tumble from your mouth when we’re alone and they taste sour on my tongue. I don’t know what to make of it, the pushing and pulling, the taking and the giving. I freeze when your shoulder is pressed against mine, but my skin gets even colder when you leave me at night. What lengths will we go to to keep each other warm if that warmth has been nothing but a mere pretence to keep going in circles? What will we do to keep this lie alive in order to save us from the pain of letting go?”

— circles / n.j.

radiantquotes:

“Love didn’t hurt you. Someone who doesn’t know how to love hurt you. Don’t confuse the two.”

ninasdrafts:

“You know, sometimes I wish I’d known it’d be our last time. Our last kiss, our last touch, our last conversation. I wish I’d known because I would have paid attention to the details. The way you tilted my chin up with your hand before your lips brushed mine, the way your gentle hands caressed my skin, the way you smiled whenever I tried to make you laugh, even though what I said wasn’t remotely funny. But I didn’t. I didn’t pay attention. Because how was I to know it was the last time, that there wouldn’t be one to follow? All I see when I try to remember are your ghosts that still haunt me - but one day they’ll eventually leave me too. You turn into more of a stranger with every passing day.”

— evening thoughts #41
now it’s too late to pay attention
n.j

(via ninasdrafts)

ninasdrafts:

“when she peeled herself out of bed at night, she appeared to be as vibrant as the city that spread out beneath her windowsill, pulsing with life. the brightness of the neon lights intoxicated her, sending her into a drunk-like state, plunging her into a world bursting with colour. she would dance the night away, run until her feet protested, scream until her lungs burned. it was only then that she felt alive. that she felt the weight on her shoulders ease slightly. under the lights, under the pretense of having fun, under the illusion that she was invincible. truth is she only ever was awake when she was with you and she’s been trying to recreate this feeling ever since, opening her eyes to an empty spot in her bed in the middle of the night, her naked feet cold against the tiles every time she rose to wake the skeletons in her closet. but there is nothing she can do, nothing that compares to the feeling of being seen by you. so she walks through the days with her eyes half-closed, desperately wishing for someone to stumble into her life, waking her up again like she is convinced only you could. she‘s too tired, her eyelids too heavy for her to notice that there is really no one else to wake her up but herself. that all this time, while she held on to the memory of you, she could have set herself free.”

— wake up / n.j.

outside my window,

enslavedmind:

water droplets turn to sweat;

i’m steaming up glass with smoke while she destroys pianokeys. i try to dream of another world as i stare at grassblades. trees are falling & i wish to catch them. everyone’s running from something & we’re trapped in this house, this room with no breeze. i ache to feel wind through my hair, my fingers. she snaps her wrists & never says a word. i try to kiss her eyelids awake, she’s trying to avoid me.

voices carry through oceans;

everything echos through walls. i hear them calling me home. i can’t break these chains. sober thoughts chase my drunk dreams. she’s even louder than all noises existing. i wish to scream, she took my voice three years ago. i chew & chew through layers & layers of duct tape. no luck. i pretend to stay alive, but i’ve rotted to my core. she says i’m pretty when i cry. she’s right.

bodies stack higher & higher;

i keep tallymarks on my wrist. counting down the days till the door unlocks. she promises, promises, promises we’ll be free. walls are crumbling, but i know there’s still six feet of concrete under cheap wallpaper. she’s rattling her bones. i beg her to stop. she doesn’t listen, she never does. all i can do is stare out the window, hoping for a brighter sun to blind my eyes & take me away from here.