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cherry1360 reblogged
cherry1360 reblogged
xoblxrryfxce-deactivated2023071
“Where do you go when your house isn’t home?”
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cherry1360 reblogged
from ‘shades of lovers’ by catarine hancock (instagram: catarinehancock)
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If only I’d known that our last kiss was our last kiss, I’d have kissed you for longer. I would have tried to memorize what kissing you felt like, what you tasted like, I’d have left no detail unnoticed. I’d have tried to capture it all.
I took it for granted that I’ll see you again.
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cmfwritings
“The last time your arms wrapped around mine, I couldn’t help but wonder if this was the last time I’d ever be this close to you.”
Source: cmfwritings
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Source: weheartit.com
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Source: xslowly
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cherry1360 reblogged
I went through people like I went through books. Compulsively. Consistently. One after the other. Falling in love. Shedding tears. Obsessing. Hating. Cursing. I was amused. Curious. Excited. Interested. Happy. Heartbroken. In pain. Some people like books were triology, a series, in terms of the phases of my life and our interactions. Some just stand alone books. Some got stained with my coffee. The others got away like the books you lend to friends and never get back. Most are sitting right here, on my bookshelf, most dusty yet precious. I don't read them again, but often think fondly of them. Like 442 pages, some stay in my life for 442 days. But the point is. I go through people the way I go through books. But people aren't books. I can't devour them. I can't annotate them. I can't derive my own meaning out of them. They are living, breathing souls. Deriving their own meaning out of my existence and our interactions. But that's not even the troubling part. The troubling part comes here: like books, I can't finish reading people. I can't be done with them. But I still need the next one, the new one. The one from another genre. The one I chance upon in a foreign country's independent bookstore cafe. I guess I've realized this. I've admitted it. This is my dark side. I go through people like I go through books. I used to think it's people who always leave. And I guess I was right. People do always leave. But I'm the people. I'm the one who leaves. Not literally. Not explicitly. Not painfully. But gradually, silently, in care and love. And that's more horrible, isn't it? Isn't it.
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“im hurting so bad and i dont even know if i have the energy to want to get better”
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Looking back, I realise he was never great. But he had so much potential, and I could never forgive myself if I didn’t fight for us. So I turned a blind eye to all the red flags and fell in love with a lie. I romanticized betrayal by calling it a misunderstanding and when I gave my all, only to get nothing in return, I still called it compromising.
- C. H.
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cherry1360 reblogged
why, for example, does the smell of incense set people up mystically, and does gray amber ignite passions? why does the aroma of violets wake up memories of dead love, musk fogs the brain, and champak returns the imagination? I want to have a greenhouse where I can study the effect of various odorous roots and herbs, fragrant flowers at the time of maturation of their pollen, fragrant balsams, rare varieties of fragrant tree, nard, which relaxes, hovenia, the smell of which can be insane, aloe,which is said to heal the soul from melancholy
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