Nobody has ever measured, not even poets, how much the human heart can hold.
“
| — | Zelda Fitzgerald, novelist (1900-1948), via Wordsmith.org |
Sometimes I’m terrified of my heart; of its constant hunger for whatever it is it wants. The way it stops and starts.
“
| — | Edgar Allan Poe (via thebookishdark) |
I’m tired of all these excuses. I’m tired of knowing there will be nothing but excuses, but still hoping maybe once you’ll actually show you want to spend time with me. I’m just fucking tired of it all.
You felt like my future whenever I thought of you. Now, you finally feel like my past. But I can’t help wondering how this is, when you were never my present.
When you squeeze an orange, orange juice comes out - because that’s what’s inside.
“
| — | Am I filled with hostility and sarcasm? That seems to be the only thing coming out of me any more. |
You may forget but
let me tell you
this: someone in
some future time
will think of us.
let me tell you
this: someone in
some future time
will think of us.
“
| — | Sappho (via greatcollectivesigh) |
