Thinking of you right now. My chest has that weird slightly achy feeling again.
I miss you.
Maybe tomorrow I’ll finally work up the guts to text you. I really want to talk to you- even if it is just over text- but don’t want to come off as weird or desperate if I initiate. Aaaaaa overthinking.
You were in my dream last night. I don't remember if we were working or just hanging out, but I was grateful to spend time with you again.
It was hard to get a word in; you talked and talked and talked, but that's okay. I was content just listening to you. I could listen to you talk forever.
I miss you.
I am the author of my own heartbreaks. I write each line, elaborate each story, I even read them to an audience. The tiny details and the grander schemes are just reels of film that I conjured up, playing over and over in my head. I could watch them all day. I would take notes on how to rewrite each scene so that these pieces of my imagination would recieve a higher rating, a louder applause. But I am now realizing, that I am my only audience, and my only critic.
a part of me wants you to realize we’re meant to be, but another part of me feels crazy as hell about that part.
the way we stared at each other smiling at that late night train home, I knew there was something but why didn't you say anything?
i loved you. now i know how much i loved you. i loved you but you walked away.
i miss you. i miss the nights we spent listening to music and talking about life. i miss you saying "can i be your boyfriend just for tonight?". god how i miss everything about you
can you come back to me?