I notice everything. And by everything, I literally mean everything. I notice when someone stops hitting me up like they used to. I notice when the way someone talks to me starts changing. I notice the little things that people do, and the little things they used to do. I notice when things change, and when it’s no longer the same. I notice every single little detail. I just don’t say anything.
It was an improbable romance. He was a country boy. She was from the city. She had the world at her feet, while he didn’t have two dimes to rub together.
I have commitment issues with tumblr. BLAH>>
People always say that it hurts at night
and apparently screaming into your pillow at 3am
is the romantic equivalent of being heartbroken.
it’s 9am on a tuesday morning
and you’re standing at the kitchen bench waiting for the toast to pop up
And the smell of dusty sunlight and earl gray tea makes you miss him so much
you don’t know what to do with your hands.
Rosie Scanlan, “On Missing Them” (via fassadenmensch)