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yesterday I saw someone with your hair and you washed over me like a cold shower, breaking me out in goosebumps. maybe tomorrow I’ll see someone with your wrists, or your gait, and I’ll die all over again. because this is what I’ve resorted to, gathering you up in tidbits dropped by strangers; stitching them together like Frankenstein, just so that I can see you again
good god you’ll be the death of me, and I don’t think I particularly mind (from words I will never say to you)
I wanted to feel your body pressed against mine, taste your lips with my last breathe, and dance with you in the luminous moonlight. Instead I sat quietly and watched the distance between us grow throughout the days. I let you be happy while I let myself fade away.
jupitarslastorbit, An excerpt of the letter I never sent (via wnq-writers)
There’s something holy about his lips, but when they brush against mine I know they’re only gates to sin.
L.H.Z // It might be sacrilegious to build a religion on lust. (via lzeen)
i. people were never supposed to be stars. we don’t yet know how to safely cradle all that light within us.
ii. you were the type of girl people named stars after. maybe that’s why you became one.
iii. people are not supposed to be stars, but my god, you were mine.
iv. stars always, always burn themselves out to give others light.
v. i still think of you when i send my wishes up to the sky.