I don’t have dreams they’re all goals
Suddenly you’re 21 and you’re screaming along in the car to all the songs you listened to when you were sad in middle school and everything is different but everything is good.

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I was only an inhale.
And it’s becoming the time of year when inhales feel like ice in the back of your throat
I must have burned your tongue because you coughed and spit me out like I was the smoke in your brothers lungs.
I wanted to be more then a cigarette break to you
but now I can’t help but wonder how many times you saw her face when we kissed before you decided I was burning out
and although my lungs still feel empty from the first time you took my breath away
I won’t spend all of October writing songs about you
because it rains
and there are waterfalls
and sometimes there are shooting stars
so it’s okay for things to end
it’s okay for us to fall
even if you break your wrist on the pavement.
I like art, and by art I mean music, poetry, sex, paintings, the human body, literature.. All of this is art to me.
Life is too short for shitty sex and bad relationships. So go find someone who fucks you right and treats you how you deserve to be treated.
Life’s under no obligation to give us what we expect.
Your handwriting. The way you walk. Which china pattern you choose. It’s all giving you away. Everything you do shows your hand. Everything is a self-portrait. Everything is a diary.
I do not desire mediocre love. I want to drown in someone.
Healing doesn’t mean the damage never existed. It means the damage no longer controls our life.
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