We fall in love with more ideas than people because ideas can fit inside our mind and when they break things we can tip our head to the side and let them leak out and brush it off and say:
they weren’t that good anyway.
Because if they were, they would have been meant for us and we would have had the courage to hold onto them instead of telling yourself over and over until you wake up in the middle of winter, run your fingers through your hair, over your skin, tongue over teeth, and don’t remember what it felt to believe
they were good.
Maybe in time you will forgive yourself for doing what you did, after all what do we even have but ourselves? The drumming of pain against your ribs, faintly felt in your fingertips, your lips, everywhere your body remembered love, will fade until you can only feel it late at night with a glass of summer and soil swallowed with everything you ever meant to say. And before you fall asleep, give your heart a rest because you know in your bones you won’t carry this forever.
Diary of a mad brown girl 