better, adj. and adv.

Will it ever get better?
It better.
Will it ever get better?
It better.
Will it ever get better?
It better.

I didn't let her go. She went. It's not my fault.
She did it.
She could undo it.
This is feeling so fucking famliar.
Why do we even bother? Why do we make ourselves so open to such easy damage? Is it all loneliness? Is it all fear? Of is it just to experience those narcotic moments of belonging with someone else?

I say good-bye to hope, but I also say goodbye to hope's disappointment.

Because when a guy's a jerk or an asshole, it's easier because you know exactly where you stand.

The way you're singing in your sleep
The way you look before you leap
The strange illusions that you keep
You don't know
But I'm noticing

The way your touch turns into arcs
The way you slide into the dark
The beating of my open heart
You don't know
But I'm noticing

There has to be a moment at the beginning where you wonder whether you’re in love with the person or in love with the feeling of love itself.
If the moment doesn’t pass, that’s it—you’re done.
And if the moment does pass, it never goes that far. It stands in the distance, ready for whenever you want it back. Sometimes it’s even there when you thought you were searching for something else, like an escape route, or your lovers’ face.