One: If I could, I would nail these hands to the edges of stars, I would sacrifice this body to the sky hoping to resurrect as someone spiteful enough to not care about you anymore.
Two: Staple me to a cross, pierce my side with a broken promise and I will bleed all the crippled reasons why you deserve one more chance.
Three: Loving you was the last thing that I felt really good at.
Four: You want to know how I got these scars. See, I ripped every last piece of you out of my smile.
Five: I whispered you stardust.
Six: I spoke you into sunflowers.
Seven: I dipped my hands into forever. I touched you infinity. I treated you as if you were the last molecule of oxygen inside of a gas chamber. I was good to you.
Eight: You want to know how I got these scars. See, I swallowed my pride and then it clawed its way out of my mouth.
Nine: I realized that I was never really your boyfriend. I was just your fucking height man.
Ten: I hope your next boyfriend gets smallpox.
Ten: Yes, I said smallpox.
Ten: I hate you.
Ten: But I still miss you.
Ten: And a part of me still loves you.
Ten: It’s hard for me to count when I get emotional.
Ten: I heard that over 90% of human interaction is non-verbal so…
Ten: If I could, I would tie your arms to a daydream and then auction you off to my fondest memories.
To the random dude who started dating my ex-girlfriend two days after we broke up: Yes, I saw that shit on Facebook.
Now when I realized that you were in a relationship with a girl that I thought I would someday spend the rest of my life with I walked outside and said to myself: “There’s no way Ashton Kutcher would catch me off guard.” I waited 45 minutes.
And then I realized that there hasn’t been a new episode of Punk’d in damn near 4 years.
So I guess I’m the only practical joke in this entire situation.
One: The first time I saw you and her in picture, I wanted to take my entire arm shove inside of the computer and snatch the happiness right off of your face.
Two: If I ever see you in the street, I’m probably going to punch you in the throat.
Three: I apologize in advance. And I know, I know it makes no sense to have this much anger toward a man that I’ve never actually met face-to-face but my definition of love is being robbed in an alley eight times in a row and hoping there is something about today that makes all of this different, there is nothing logical about cutting off the most important parts of yourself and then putting them inside of hands that shake, that tremble, that crack like a Haitian sidewalk.
Four: There is nothing rational about love. Your love stutters when it gets nervous. Your love trips over its own shoelaces. Love is clumsy and my heart refuses to wear a helmet.
Five: Cupid is fucking irresponsible. And I’m tired of him using me for target practice.
Six: I was told that time would heal all wounds, but what exactly do you do on days when it feels like the hands on your clock have arthritis.
Seven: She always wore her heart on her sleeves, so tell me, then why the hell do you look so familiar?
Eight: I think I’ve seen you somewhere in her smile, like I’ve heard your voice in her laughter, like I’ve smelled your cologne on her thighs. I bet if we dusted her heart for fingerprints we would only find yours.
Nine: I have this envelope; it’s full of all the butterflies that I felt the first time she relaxed the Velcro on her lips and smiled in my direction. I think most of them are still alive. I guess these belong to you too.
- (via re-examine)