The truth is, I feel beyond sad. I feel empty. Numb.

What had been became what was and a story only works when you know the ending. When the people in it don’t seem like pretend. When you can think about that girl and how she was once upon a time, and see her. When you don’t already know the story is a lie.

I'll always remember taking your hand and telling you that everything would be okay.

Something in me, in my bruised heart, wakes up, and even though I'm terrified, I don't push the feeling away.

And you… do you know what you are?” “Stupid?” “Beautiful,” he says, his face turning red.

He is nothing to look at, and yet I can’t stop looking at him. There is something beautiful in how his face is made, how all the tiny flaws blend together into something more perfect than perfection could ever be.

the thing is you can get used to anything you think you cant you want to die but you dont you cant you just are