epistolary ships

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a diary in letters to trace the days, the months, along Time's spine. To capture it, if only for a moment, and remember the taste of what has gone by.


All I can write about right now is heartbreak and longing. Sentences like:

I never loved you more than when you walked away, the sky molten gold on your back.


I kept staring at your lips, all red and bruised from my kissing, at the fascinating shade of blue the shadows under you eyes had.


The sound of the key in the lock, final and clear in the silence, the only sound I will ever truly remember.


I wish I had learned to say goodbyes. As it were, I was only good at being the one receiving them.


I wasn’t trying to be cruel, I was only trying to save the pieces left of me, before you trampled on them with your boots. All I did, though, was trampled on yours.

2 years ago ⋅ 31 notes ⋅ VIA ⋅ SOURCE ⋅ misc   weird day