The definition of really loving someone

My hands trace the crevice of your back and I feel the way you want me and I want you too.
I planted my seeds for you, I took parts of me and grew you a forest.
Every part of your skin that my fingerprints touch grow daisies, some days but not often, they grow thorn bushes. It's times like these that we really take each other in and we don't make love, we fuck.
We fuck like we just came out of the water and we are our first breaths.
We fuck like we were never liars.
We fuck and we don't care what our families would say, we are no longer our parents babies, we are canvas and paint
And our bodies create art when we thrust, with every stroke your thorn bush cut my skin and I bleed out waterfalls that honeymooners first really kiss under.
But most days we make love, and I mean that we create love, we control the meaning.
It's you and I and daisies.
We aren't lustful teenagers we are lovers.
We forget how sad we are and we forget we are only 19.
Daisies won't ever stop growing out of your pours as long as my fingertips never stop gracing your skin.
You are the garden and my fingertips gardeners.
I get lost in the way your lips get lost in mine, I see comets with our names carved into them, other lips are jealous they don't fit as well as ours.
This is what it means to love
Moulding your skin into the missing piece of mine.
Melting till we forget we are human.
We are 19 and we don't just fuck, we make love,
digging graves as we do because we know good things die eventually.

And just like that, she felt alright.
He loved her, and it didn't matter in which way.

I fall in love with sad people, I fall in love with broken houses, and the fact that one day we might have to drink our selves to sleep. 

I thought I didn't have room in my chest for someone like you, I hate that I was wrong because I swore I didn't have room left, because of him.
You crept your way into my home and you found my heart, you held it and I fell.
I hate that you kiss me and that the thought of you leaving isn't ok.
Our love is depression and hormones, it's the smell of perfume and the taste of cigarettes.

It's talks till 5am and "love making" with clothes on.

It's telling each other how bad we suck at relationships but burying ourselves into each other till we can hear our bones scraping together and we can feel the ache of our hearts fighting each other.
I want to hold you during your worst days, I want to tell you how much I adore you and how much I love the idea that we might not last.
I was happy with being in love with someone who didn't love me back, I was alright with writing about the same old thing, retelling stories about him to small crowds.
I miss my nights with him, I miss the way he messed with my head and the way his hands felt.
But I love our nights together and the movies we don't really watch.
I love that you sing songs against my lips and that we can talk about everything.
I love the way your skin feels against mine.
I love the idea that you may not want me as much as I want you.
I'm not going to say I love you.
I don't think I love you, but i'm worried that one day I might.

It's been far too long since i have written anything, but what's the point in me writing anything when I have nothing to say.

Everything I tried so hard to keep together is falling apart.

For several days now, all I feel is this black hole in my chest,

It just keeps sucking in all that I have worked so hard to fix about myself.

I'm not happy 

and

I think I've lost you

I'm not too proud of this blog anymore.

In fact, I'm not too proud of anything anymore.

GAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHH
FUUUUUUUUUCCCKKKKK

GARRAHHHGGG
WHAT THE FUCK AM I SUPPOSED TO DO WITH YOU?


This is honestly all I feel right now.