To have something so entirely delicate ripped from your heart
It’s mortifying
Slashes tear through your flesh as electric impulses travel through your heart to your brain
To your heart
To your brain
To your heart
To your brain
What is man supposed to do when the single thing he loves the most just disappears?
Drops off into the depths of the ocean where,
Instead of light, deep green seaweed grows in the deep hallows of the earth’s mystical ocean waters.
Love.
How greatly valuable when only placed in your heart.
If you want somewhere for safe-keeping, store it in your brain.
Your brain knows the difference between the past and the present.
Your brain knows that a memory is just that…
A memory…
You can only create new ones.
There is no such thing as “recreate.”
What’s done is done.
As the clock continues on my wall
tick
tock
tick
tock
I suddenly come to the excruciating realization that time, indeed, moves at different times each and every second of the day.
Time controls itself.
It’s a battle between us, the universe, and the now forsaken time.
Connection isn't everything anymore.
It’s all about the damned timing.
A single phone call may seem like such a minuscule thing to do.
But really
Really its value of the call, when the three words that can either determine your future be good or bad go through that telephone, is way more than his old money will ever be worth.
This sudden rush I have obtained in my stomach from writing is that of the mere idea that you may, in fact,
ever
love
me
back.