"You say: I dated her a while back. You don’t say: Sometimes, when i’m holding you, i imagine the smell of her vanilla perfume.

You say: She was younger than me.
You don’t say: The sixteen summers in her bones warmed the eighteen winters my skin had weathered.

You say: it’s nothing now.
You don’t say: But it was everything then."
Auriel H., Some Things Are Better Left Unsaid (via larmoyante)
Graveyard Whistling
Nothing But Thieves
©