ktowwn:

I have forgotten the sound of
your voice and I have considered
changing your name to missed
phone calls or you’re never there
when I need you. I am having
a hard time remembering the
way you make my stomach
hurt from laughing and I wonder
if I told a joke you didn’t like
and that’s why you stay away.
I don’t know what I’ve done to
deserve your silence. I don’t
know why you’ve run out of
time for me but I am missing you.
I am missing you, and I don’t feel
like I will ever stop.

officialiwrotethisforyou:

If you’re strong enough to take that blade and draw it across your skin. 

If you’re strong enough to take those pills and swallow them when no one’s home.

If you’re strong enough to tie that rope and hang it from the ceiling fan.

If you’re strong enough to jump off that bridge, my friend.

You are strong enough, to live.

thecapn:

You’re six months old. Your brother carries you out of a fire and later you’ll think that he never really put you down again. 

You’re twelve years old. Your brother is haloed in gold and every time you look at him your heart skips a beat. 

You’re fifteen years old. You realize that when your father says, “Jump,” your brother says, “How high?” It feels like your Christ has been crucified. Now you run on faith and fumes. 

You’re eighteen years old. You want with a fever; you want to be something shiny and new, you want to be something independent and away from Him and him. 

You’re twenty-two years old. Your brother looks at you like he thinks your eighteen and he wants you to be twelve. He doesn’t see all the growing you’ve done. 

You’re twenty-three years old. You’re a monster. 

You’re twenty-four years old. For the first time it’s your job to save your brother and you’re terrified and excited. He doesn’t think you can do it. 

You’re twenty-five years old. You couldn’t do it. 

You’re twenty-six years old. You’re everything you never wanted to be for all of the right reasons. You still want with a fever, but now you want blood. You think they’re going to have to burn your bones twice when you die just to give you peace. 

You’re twenty-seven years old. Your brother catches you with blood on your lips and he looks at you like he’s seeing you for the first time. You’re not twelve. You’re not eighteen. You’re Christ and you’ve been crucified. He doesn’t have any faith so he’s just running on fumes. 

You’re twenty-eight years old. You’re sorry all the way to martyrdom. 

You’re twenty-nine years old. Your head hurts like you’ve got more than one person up there. 

You’re thirty years old. You can’t remember what it felt like to be eighteen through the haze of pain and insanity. 

You’re thirty-one years old. You’re alone. You’re done. There’s peace. 

streussal:

#Zoe soldier feels!! #I have so many feelings about what are her thoughts in the war and in their current situation #because I think she doesn’t wear her defeat as a badge of honor the way Mal does #she just accepted it because she was in the right side but the wrong side won #and so now everything is messed up and it doesn’t matter anymore #but she still has to keep Mal in check because she knows that if she doesn’t he will get himself killed #because Mal is constantly fighting the war even after is done #while Zoe accepts that they lost and there is nothing to do about it but keep living #and protect those around you however you can 

aseaofquotes:

Elizabeth Scott, Living Dead Girl