she is the first girl who ever loved me, a phantom of two a.m. conversations, sitting cross-legged on the edge of my bed and braiding my hair.
she is the first girl i loved, the one who tangled her legs in mine and held me close when the demons came to feast on my smile.
in darkness, she was the sun.
she is a ghost.
she is the bitter use of the past tense, of no new memories, of midnight mourning when her laughter plays in my head like a broken record.
she is the tugs at my heartstrings when i’m alone in bed, she’s the sobs staining my pillow, she’s the absence of her hands on my ribs and her skin on my skin.
she is the one who took advantage of her ability to break me, she built me a heart like stained glass and shattered it at my feet.
she is still breathing and sometimes that makes me want to die.
oh god, how she hurt me.
oh god, how i love her.
|—||she is everything still. (via poppyflowerpoetry)|