I kind of just want to talk to you for hours on end even when I have school the next day and I know I’ll wake up feeling groggy and tired
yaco is my new otp
tell me I’m beautiful. tell me the sun sets behind my ears and stars fall in my eyes. tell me I can be the lingering thoughts before sleep takes over the mind. tell me I can be the cup of coffee that kisses sleepy lips awake. tell me I’m worth it. tell me I’m beautiful.
I miss you too
I. I’m flawed and awkward. I’m clothed in imperfections, metaphors, and ink stains. I’m a tangled mess of lackluster poetry, unfathomable emotions, and indescribable thoughts.
II. I’m not Juliet and I never will be. You’re not my Romeo either, but Shakespeare didn’t write us and this isn’t a tragic love story written on parchments. Whatever this thing between us is not meant to be told in sonnets, verses and soliloquies (if it’s meant to be told at all).
III. I fall way too deeply for words. My heart escapes the tight shackles in my rib cage before I could even fathom it when someone proclaims that stars dance in my eyes and lilies reside between my lips (that I’m beautiful).
IV. She writes for you. She longs for you. She’s honest with you. She was there first. I write for you. I wait for you. I keep most of my thoughts from you, and I’m sorry. I don’t understand what they mean, so I’d rather keep them to myself for now. But maybe that will be my downfall.
V. I can easily get lost in the realities I’ve constructed in my head. I live in daydreams and fantasies that will never materialize in front of me - in real life. So waking up from them makes me ache because I think I’ve fallen knee deep for them.
VI. You managed to make me feel something that I’ve never felt before. You made me feel as though I deserved to be told I’m beautiful - as though I deserved to be cared of. So maybe I’ll never be the Juliet in your story, but I hope I still play a part in it.
I want to get lost underneath this blanket of stars and never be found.
Anonymous asked: How do you describe love?
It’s the way you crumple your papers and throw them in the trash when the right words won’t come to mind. It’s how you bury your face in pillows and scream late at night. It’s the red stains, splotchy inks, and broken glass. It’s messy, frustrating, heartbreaking, and flawed. But it’s also the way the sun kisses the horizon as it slowly descends the sky. It’s how music makes your heart beat with emotions and memories. It’s the rainy nights, morning coffee, and soft lullabies. It’s sweet, tender, desiring, and beautiful at the same time.
Maybe I’m not that kind of beautiful
dressed in red lipstick and black eyeliner.
I’m not beautiful in the sense of
defined cheekbones, full lips,
curvy hips, and shapely legs.
I’m not beautiful like the sunsets kissing the sky,
the stars outlining evening wishes,
the freshly picked flowers,
and the softly murmured I love you’s.
So maybe I’m the kind of girl
with pale lips and dull eyes.
But I hope someday,
someone kisses the sunsets on my chapped lips
and outlines the stars on my cheekbones.
I hope he waters the flowers beneath the flaws on my skin
and screams I love you’s because his love for me
is meant not to be kept in secret drawers,
but to be plastered in the sky,
on waters, and in the wind.
I hope he loves
the no make up, flawed,
clumsy, and awkward
kind of beautiful.
Sometimes, I listen to music
to quench the silence.
Other times, I listen
to fill the void in my heart.
Then I would realize,
maybe there’s really no difference
between the two.