(Source: belongtopoetry)
(Source: neuewave, via fuckyeahgirlswithtattoos)
(via rachelviolin)
(Source: ohmypinkandfrilly)
For there is nothing heavier than compassion. Not even one’s own pain weighs so heavy as the pain one feels with someone, for someone, a pain intensified by the imagination and prolonged by a hundred echoes.
—Milan Kundera, The Unbearable Lightness of Being (via melkell)
Ophelia by *briarthorn
Being alone with my thoughts early in the morning feels like a damaging ritual I go through each day.
I woke up this morning, alone, with you all over my mind. It was as if I could feel you in bed with me. I was so content because I was alone in my own space and could entertain the thought that you could be there with me.
But I’m sitting here now, with that pain in my eyes that lets me know I got too little sleep and a tight ball somewhere in my chest, like I swallowed something that hasn’t gone down properly.
The time we spend together is never enough for me. It’s never enough because I love you more each time, and the hours just slip by too quickly.
There are just too many emotions and neither my body nor my mind are keen enough at this hour to handle any of them.
I want to be clear, though. The pain and misery I feel does come from the guilt, and the sadness, and all of that. It does. But a lot of it, perhaps more of it than I care to recognize, comes from a constant desire to have you with me…from the thought that it might not happen…from the being away from you when I’m so obviously meant to be with you.
I love you. Always.
