athousandlittlewords:

I can’t tell the difference between north and south if you spin me until my head knocks against my skull and I chew on my lower lip until it bleeds, sometimes I think it’s an unconscious reminder of the blood still running under this tired skin. I am lost most days and I often forget to carry a compass or a map in my pocket so I’ll know the way home. I don’t like coffee unless it’s mixed with the swirling darkness of hot chocolate and I suppose that tells you more than you need to know about me, but I’ll always look for words in my fingertips to try and explain myself to you because that’s just who I am. I stumble over letters and stories and I talk in my sleep so as to not forget what it’s like to dream. But mostly, I worry about you. I worry my hands are not large enough to capture all these misshapen and damaged dreams you keep tucked into the folds of your spine. I worry your smile will disappear into the creases of your face and the universe will forget what your laugh sounded like. I worry about the darkness that keeps you and I up at night, knocking on our windows and promising a kind of numbness only night can bring. I worry too, whether or not you know how much I need you because sometimes neither do I. 

(via breathe-serenity)