(via allonsyforever)
And if we end in fire
burning, crackling, full of desire
of this love will we ever tire?
And if we end in ice
snapping, freezing, a cold new vice
Will our souls and still hearts suffice?
And if we are to ever end
tearing, ripping, can’t comprehend
of growing feelings will we descend?
And if there is to be no end
chilling, thrilling, hearts to amend
Will you be there beloved friend?
Watch as I would slap you straight on the face one day. With my words, I shall kill you inch by inch of your soul for writing something that broke your heart. I will make you curl into a ball for nights, tearing up just because of a story or a book that I have written. One day you would wake up…
I. She’s a bookworm. She’d rather spend her afternoons inside a cold library than be with you on a date. When you go to malls together, she’d go straight into a bookstore to look for new books to read or just to ogle at the rows of books and wish that she can own the place. At night, she won’t…
You may feel that it’s
these bundles of pills
that define what you are,
the needles that
measure
how you are,
your body and skin
that clarify
who you are.
Disregard them
for a while.
They are not
as much as
your soul —
your journey
collected,
all the love
consolidated.We are
not atoms,
or gravity,
nor how science
seek to explain,
and define.
We are
the melody
within.
another-superwholock-fanwarrior:
FAVOURITE POST ON THE INTERNET, YOU CAN ALL GO HOME
THE LAST ONE<3
(via allonsyforever)