“Two people can be just friends, but at one point or another, they will fall for each other. Maybe temporarily, maybe at the wrong time, maybe too late, or maybe forever.”—Dave Matthews Band (via bulimic)
5803.) Everyone tells me, "Don't worry, it get's better with time." So far, everything that I have observed has showed me and proved to me that it really doesn't. In reality, a broken heart just gets used to the pain.
You never fail to hurt me, time and again. Just when I’m done with myself and drummed up enough courage to believe in myself and in you again, I fall so hard in an instant. It’s always these things, seemingly insignificant to you, that hurt me the most. Maybe it’s just me, being selfish and demanding and possessive as usual. Maybe it’s just me, my stupid little ideals and oversimplistic worlds and clearly drawn absolutes. I don’t know if I’m asking for too much. But each time, just after you promised, something else will always happen. Then my world comes crashing down, my heart broken again and again. You don’t know how it feels. Because you’re not even aware of what you’re doing to me. And everything just falls collectively into this category of broken things, which takes frequent stabs at my heart, reminding me, time to time, of the reality. These scars heal and scab, then the scabs get picked at again and they bleed. You never fail to hurt me the most and the deepest.
And I guess, the worst thing about this would be how I’ll never stop loving you. Me being unable to take back what I’ve given to you - it’s just an excuse. A stupid fucking excuse to not retract my love and expose myself to all the harm. Because I know, if I wanted to, I would have my heart back.