danglingmouse

trapped in your own world(s) too tired to try when it comes to real life you've been there and back we're all just the same, people but we make it so hard to talk to each other (i guess now I'm guilty of the same)

if I love you I trust you and that's why I stopped loving people. (how do I get out of this)

I felt his body getting colder; but at the same time, I was getting warmer, as if he was beginning to leave his self so he could be closer to mine.

"I…I don't know. I'm just worried that, well, I haven't lived the most fun life so far. The point is…it doesn't take that much to make me happy, or smile for that matter. just the simple things…really. and I don't know whether that's enough for you to be happy, or satisfied, rather." "…(hugs) does this make you happy?" "…(rubs) You don't even know."

sometimes I don't want to be hugged (by a stranger) but rather, I want to give one to someone because maybe I can shed a little light a little glimmer a little myriad of hope on someone else's life when my life is already pretty far darn gone

there's honestly nothing more that I want but to see the calmness in your eyes a subtle smile on your lips telling me that everything is at peace, for the moment that we can both savor a few seconds, minutes, here in this spot take a breather or two before we set out into the grand foray once more.

I feel my own clock ticking underneath my skin telling me when to sleep when to run when to love when to smile, and think happy things telling me that I still have time left that I am, I exist, I can. that I'm here.

every hug is a silent prayer thanking God for letting me be here with you

behind any anger behind any outburst there is sorrow there is pain and you always seem to be able to look beyond the moment hit me in the source and bring me peace

internalize yourself meditate and find peace

i know a girl made of mercury; silvery-white and iridescent, she is her own liquid constellation. she knows a broken love but it does not mean she's broken. it does not mean she's broken. she is quicksilver against palms, blink and she is already through your fingers, but she makes me vermillion, she is not broken. i know a girl who thinks herself as ruined, but i've seen her gentle hands forge and her brilliant mind create. there is nothing ruined about a girl with a heart too big for her body. after all, only the beautiful think they are ruined.                      she calls herself a caged bird                          but songs s

I'm trying to keep you alive.