someseason:

and you’d sing the blues and I’d run my fingers through your hair

It was cruel
The type of love that burnt out too often to ever be sure if it was real
If it was the genuine kind
The truthful kind that spent hours writing poems about finding light in the darkness
I never questioned if we were living in love
I knew we were dying from the start
But I’d ride it out with you
I’d ride anything out for you.
It was cruel
The type of love that obsessed over romance and goodbyes
The kind that left bite marks and tear stains on pillows
And even though I knew we weren’t forever,
I still pretended that we were.
And that was the cruelest part of all.

-a.a.

I’m not okay.