But whenever I say that I will do this or that, it looks very different when the time comes. Now I am unwilling. I must take care not to say such things again.
Every single painting I’ve done
It’s so fucking twisted, you know. This whole “love” thing. Like really? You fall in love and you literally fall. You crash to the ground and I swear to god all your bones break. You’re fucking shattered but you don’t notice because you’ve got this beautiful boy whispering in your ear and kissing your neck and nothing else matters. But then he leaves and suddenly you feel it. You feel everything. And you’re hysterically crying in your car at 4 in the morning in some empty parking lot because it’s the only place that doesn’t taste like him and you’re trying to hold your bones together but his old t-shirts don’t work as a cast, wrapping them around your chest won’t fix the craters in your ribs. Nothing stops the aching.