WITH MUCH LOVE, ASSHOLE
Because I love you… I hate you, Your transgressions can never be forgotten. You were my everyone… My everything… Yet, I am but a blemish marring your shoe. Though I worship the very ground you walk on, Casually you turn away as if I am a stain in your life. Rubbish, which has failed to serve it’s purpose, You cast me away… My tears will never...
Find someone who will tremble for your touch, someone whose fingers are a poem.– Janet Fitch (via dailystendhalnitesaudade)
this isn't happiness.: F. Scott Fitzgerald’s... →
nevver: Days of this February were white and magical, the nights were starry and crystalline. The town lay under a cold glory. Dyed Siberian horse. As thin as a repeated dream. The sea was coming up in little intimidating rushes. The island floated, a boat becalmed, upon the almost perceptible…