RippedPaperHearts
"She's in search of her ways. Gotta find a way, a way to get away. Away..."


"

This is why it hurts the way it hurts.

You have too many words in your head. There are too many ways to describe the way you feel. You will never have the luxury of a dull ache.

You must suffer through the intricacy of feeling too much.

"




"We were holding hands since 1976. Your grandfather’s voice sounded like leaves rustling. As if he had rows and rows of trees growing down his throat, tail winds coming out of his mouth as though it were a pathway made of layered skies. He told me about his dream of tasting fingertip after fingertip of his favorite poem. He said, “the one who wrote this wanted to take my lungs out and feed them to the wolves. All of this is a booby trap. I just fell without warning. I just fell towards a flying bullet that was not meant to kill me in the first place. I just fell for you.” Your grandfather and I, we do not laugh at the same time when hearing each other’s failed punch lines, no. But we feel hurt and happiness at moments we never thought we will, year after year, with each other, until he breathed his last and until I will breathe mine."

-Kharla M. Brillo, My grandmother wrote a poem once. (via pouvoires)


I Write

dontcryitsonlymike:

because
it releases all the ugly shit
that I could never say
and all the beauty I can’t share
in any other form or way


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