in another life
this is to pushing on splintered walls of the world, trying to break free. this is to 4am phone calls and tears that can't be wiped away by tissues. this is to the hero dying in the end, because he couldn't overcome evil. this is to every oxymoron in the book, and to the unspoken ones; to the people that are oxymoron's themselves. this is to red wine and cigarettes on the bathroom floor, to the dog that died after thirteen years of being your best friend. this is to valued phone numbers that got lost in the washer, torn into million little pieces. this is to sneaking out of the window in your room, careful not to hit the area around the floodlight. this is for two-star hotels and nervous skin brushing together. this is for unwanted help and most needed attention; to the girls that put away messages in hopes that he'll understand, when really, he doesn't. this is to not only the guys being heart-breakers, but the girls as well. this is to the victims and the victimizers; to the people that couldn't help it when they bled. this is to those who try their hardest to play piano, but their fingers aren't long enough. this is to the girls and guys that had their virginity stolen; who were raped and beaten. this is to those that had their hearts ripped from their sleeves. this is to those that haven't been honored yet; to those who deserve it. this is to believing every lie. this is to being sick to my stomach just thinking about him loving someone else. this is to the pain i hold in every day. this is to the escape i thought i found in him. this is to those who live with a heart that has long since been broken. this is to those who live. this is to all the what ifs and to the wishes that'll never come true. this is to all the words you never said and to the ones we choke on. this is to holding your breath in that one perfect moment and being terrified that you'll blink and it'll all be gone. this is to when it is all gone and you feel like you have nothing left. this is to realizing that is wasn't your fault and that they're never coming back. this is to those who never got to say goodbye after saying something harsh before they left. this is to everything you thought once meant something you never did. this is to those who feel better aching than empty. this is to what didn't happen. this is to the tomorrows that are just another thing to get through. this is how i wish i'd never come that close to loving you. this is to realizing that you are on your own. this is to those who are dying to be alive. this is to knowing a relationship may or may not work, but taking the leap anyway. this is to the chaos within you that gives birth to a dancing star. this is to sticking your fingers down your throat, in hopes that they'll accept you. this is to every tear you've wasted on people who never cared. this is to sitting and waiting for your phone to ring. this is to being ignored; this is to him knowing he's ignoring you. this is to trying to be imperfectly perfect. this is to finding him, and holding on tight. this is to the notes on your wall that you write to yourself. this is to the girl behind that smile. this is to the boy that never gets the girl. this is to those movies and magazines; the ones that make girls stop eating, stop breathing, stop caring. this is to wanting to speak the most honest words you've never spoken in your life, not knowing whether they shold bring you closer to living or dying. this is to all of us who cry with dry eyes. this is for those who fall in love with their dreams, and wake up only to wish to be sleeping again. this is to world peace. this is to not knowing. this is to not wanting to know. this is to losing a pregnancy you didn't want in the first place and dying inside over it. this is to true love never ignited. this is to prose and poetry and those with tender hearts. this is to those who'll never get it. to those who wonder where love starts. this is to that one person who thinks you're the most kind, sweet, smart, and beautiful person ever. this is to the one person who thinks you mean everything. this is to losing that one person. this is to loving him, but having to say no to him. this is to hearing about his fuck buddies. this is to having him in your arms again, but knowing it won't last. this is to those nights where you just can't sleep because every word they said to you replays over and over. this is to those days when you just stay at home, because your heart is too weak to take in laughing. this is to those morning wake up calls he used to give you and the "sweet dreams" text messages before you fell asleep. this is to piggy back rides and cigarette smoke and those nights on the sidewalk where the two of you were the two of you again, after so many years of changing. this is to him telling you secrets that no one is supposed to know. this is to the girl that puts on his jacket when she's cold and this is to the guy that catches her smelling his scent. this is to being his head rest and his hand to hold when he's drunk and to being just another how's it going when he's sober. this is to letting go just as he starts to hold on. this is to the boy who says, "no, i don't want to leave you out" and the way you find more meaning in it than there is. this is to all the friends in the spotlight and especially to the one girl who isn't. this is to all the friends you'll never have. this is to beautiful boys who are just beautiful friends. this is to your hands on the violin or the cello or guitar or pen, and how beautiful they are. this is to the kid sitting in the corner away from the crowd because he doesn't fit in. this is for that same kid that created the crowd in the first place. this is to the ones that sit at home, lonely, hoping to find someone just like them. this is to the people who constantly want to bring you down because you were successful and they couldn't come close. this is to the boys that turned our hearts to glass just to shatter them and use the pieces to cut the wounds a little deeper. this is to all the times i wish i had said no. this is to all the times i knew what he was doing and i ignored it. this is to all the girls who let their friends walk all over them and cry themselves to sleep at night. this is to being his passenger. this is to that tingly butterfly feeling you get when they're around. this is to the night when feelings changed. this is to the broken mirror and the blood on your fist. this is to the very first kiss. this is to the eye contact, avoiding it, keeping it, trying to hide it. this is to feeling emotionless and watching yourself bleed to know you still feel. this is to the girl that never gives up. this is to the boy that lets her give up. this is to the parents that are so naive. this is to the virgins; the ones that are saving themselves for the right one. this is to the whores who feel so alone, they'd do anything to have someone for one night. this is to the swingers, the players, the lovers and the haters, for watching each others hearts break. this is for the average girl, who listens to her skinny friends complain about being fat. this is to the scrawny boy when he took his first steroid. this is to the gays who were beat for being something they couldn't help. this is to the ones who commit suicide because they couldn't take it anymore. this is to the little girls who look up to their older sisters. this is to the older sisters who loop up even more to their little sisters. this is for teaching yourself how to care, when it's the last thing you want to do. this is to the ones who still care, reciting promises of forever. this is to bruises on your elbows from a concert you wished had never ended. this is to being pushed up against a barrier and sweated on by an idol. this is to hugging that bassist that made your heart beat faster. this is to the fish that killed off all the others in the tank and now just want to die. this is to being so in love that it scares you. this is to the words never spoken; this is to fragile ones and the ones that never let them bruise. this is to those who attempt perfect, but know they'll never achieve it. this is to those who dwell on the past - who forget to live in the present. this is to those who fight for the weak and the hopeless. this is to those who never give up on their dreams, no matter what. this is to the girls who pretend to be supergirl, just to hide their pain. this is to the boys who made them hurt. this is to the mothers who protect their children. this is for the children who cry themselves to sleep at night, wishing their parents loved them. this is to those who died because their parents beat them. this is to those who survived and have become stronger, better people. this is to the people that don't even have enough. this is to you.
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