I’ve been told that alcohol is bad for me.
I’ve also been told that loving you is bad for me.
I’m still drinkingI.S (via in-toxicxted)
I saw a few guys yesterday who, at first glance, I thought were you. They weren’t. I was disappointed. I guess I look for you everywhere I go.
liar liar liar liar liar liar liar
there’s something about hospital lights and how they make everything seem traslucent and unreal and i swear i don’t remember anything, but the feeling of unreality. you can’t be gone. no. things like that don’t really happen. not in real life anyway.
i should have bought that black dress we saw when we we went to the pier. the one i have is too sexy. and you’re not around to tell me - there’s no such thing.
i hate funerals. you’re not here to hold my hand. why did they close the casket? i wish i could see your face.
my mother tells me i should eat something.
is alcohol food?
i haven’t slept in three days. i don’t want to ruin the smell of our bed. it still smells like you. like us.
my mother washed the sheets while i was asleep on the couch. i kicked her out. i miss you. no, i don’t want to call her. yes, i will.
the guy at the coffee shop asked me where you were today. i said you were on a trip, coming back in a week. it didn’t feel like a lie.
our lease is almost up. i don’t know what to do. i can’t think.
i’m keeping the apartment.
i’m moving out.
i can’t move out. it’s our apartment.
i extended the lease. no name on it. it feels wrong. all of this feels wrong. come back.
it’s been a month. i called your mother. she cried. your dad said to stop calling for a while.
your parents want your things back.
i can’t bring myself to empty your side of the closet.
your shirts still smell like you.
my therapist said to stop texting you. apparently it’s bad for me. i told her you dying was pretty crappy. she didn’t think it was funny. maybe i’m losing it.
i still miss you every day.
500 days of summer came out. i don’t want to watch it without you.
i watched it. you would have hated it.
i hate christmas.
i’m hungover. i miss you. i can’t stop crying. my head hurts.
i met someone. i hate that i like him. i hate that he makes me laugh. i hate that you’d think he’s a great guy.
we had sex. i cried after.
he found a photo of us. said it’s about time i move on. we broke up.
i still miss you. i don’t miss him. but you’re not here.
i got a haircut. i hate it. i look like a chipmunk.
maybe it’s not that bad. it works from some angles.
happy anniversary baby.
i’m a mess. i hate you for leaving me like this.
i don’t hate you. i’m sorry. i love you. i miss you.
i quit. i hated that place anyway.
i asked for my job back. it wasn’t so bad.
i spent the whole day on your bench. now i understand why families make them.
i’m moving out.
i’m moving in with him. i’m sorry.
i still miss you, but sometimes i forget.
number disconnectedm.v., 500 days of grief. (via findingwordsforthoughts)
it is as simple,
and as complicated as that. Charles Bukowski (via real-hiphophead)
Don’t tell me this
sucks for you too.
a killer cannot sue
for the bruises
on his knuckles
or the blood
on his shoes.