Heartbreak isn’t beautiful. It isn’t fucking poetry, it’s not staying up ‘til 4 am listening to sad songs. It’s breaking down in the middle of a busy street. It’s seeing their face in all the people you pass by. It’s feeling okay for weeks at a time and then all of a sudden, you feel the ghost of their lips of the back of your neck and their nails on your back and then you’re choking on memories of their presence. It’s waking up from dreams of them coming back and screaming in the middle of the night because your chest aches like a rotting tooth. Stop romanticizing pain. Stop using people like their objects. A heart isn’t a cigarette - you can’t just light it up and then stomp it out when you’re done. Don’t act like anything about heartbreak is beautiful, because I wouldn’t wish that feeling upon my worst of enemies.
By there’s nothing pretty about bleeding from the inside out (o.k.)