Quiet People have the loudest minds.

Fuck you, your eyes, your smile and your lips. I hate you for slowly letting me go insane. You sat there and watched as I ripped myself to pieces. You don’t care, you never did. So, fuck your entire being.

—The things I should have told you (via young-wanderer)

(Source: dying-0n-the-inside-sl0wly, via young-wanderer)

Sometimes you are someone’s favourite sweater. They wear you all the time. They wear you around the house, out to dinner, to the movies or even while they sleep. They wear you in front of their friends and their families and in front of strangers, because you are their favourite sweater and they want everyone to know. As it happens, whether on purpose or by accident, one day they hang you in the back of their closet. Before long, other sweaters are placed before you, and you watch them, as they come and go, wondering if you’ll ever be worn again. Soon you become not as accessible. The other sweaters are easily seen and touched and worn. You suddenly become far away. Far away means they forget the colour in your eyes and the way you smell and your voice in the morning. So you hang, collecting dust, and watching other sweaters keep the body you love warm. Maybe one day, you’ll be pulled from the closet, and they’ll remember how they never felt as warm from all the other sweaters, as they did with you. They’ll remember how you promised not to scratch their skin or be stained with lies, and you kept those promises. But as it happens, maybe you were just a sweater, and you were only ever meant to be worn, until they no longer needed you.

—itsonlyyforever (via itsonlyyforever)

(via fueledbyally)

Coming home to someone is many things. It is a literal action, an abstract idea, a physical feeling. It is more than the sound of the key turning in the door and the voice that calls from the porch. It is a choice, a promise, a declaration. It is a return, not as a person to a place, but as oneself to another. It is one individual saying to another: ‘You are the one I choose’.

While I can’t have you, I long for you. I am the kind of person who would miss a train or a plane to meet you for coffee. I’d take a taxi across town to see you for ten minutes. I’d wait outside all night if I thought you would open the door in the morning. If you call me and say ‘Will you…’ my answer is ‘Yes’, before your sentence is out. I spin worlds where we could be together. I dream you. For me, imagination and desire are very close.

— Jeanette Winterson (via radicalteen)

(Source: wordsthat-speak, via youmakemusicmeansomething)