(Source: yuharins)

It’s a Sunday night, a night never to be trusted for emotions. So, a lot of you guys are gonna head home and either receive texts in the dead of night or actually compose them that are not going to be fully representative of how you feel for the rest of the day, for the rest of your week. Then you’ll be reaching out, and if you’re not reaching out you’ll have someone else reaching out to you. And your friends, and your brain, and your morals, and your conscience have all trained you not to respond. But I’m gonna go against the grain and I’m going to suggest that the next time you get a message from the one you love, the only person in the world you love and can’t talk to, that you respond. And you just write back when they ask you if you’re up, and you’re up, just write back, “Yup, come on over.” Cause life is just too short to keep playing the game. Cause if you really want somebody, you’ll figure it out later. Otherwise, you’ll be laying in bed with a Blackberry on your chest staring at it, doing nothing for the rest of the night, hoping that it goes, “PRRR, PRRR, PRRR.” If you love someone, if you love someone. If you love someone, if you love somebody. If you love someone. Don’t say a word, say, “don’t say a word, just come over. Just come over, just come over, don’t say a word, just come over. Let me cry all over you, let me wish that you were someone different.” If you love someone…
John Mayer (via intoskinsonew)

They call me
“romantic” with
knives between
their lips, as if I am
asking for each word
to be built from the
ground from flower
beds and open
hearts.

They do not
understand
my romance.

I want to be strung
up by my ankles,
ripped open, emptied,
and told that what
I am made of is
beautiful, even as it
stains the kitchen
floor, your skin, our
conversations.

There is infinite
romance in truth.

I do not want to be
bottled, gathering
time in your shelves
until your birthday
or a bad night or
after she leaves when
you just need
something to help
you fall asleep.

In my romance,
I am not
swallowed whole.


to be the last romantic, Emma Bleker (via stolenwine)