Ord som aldri blir mer enn det de er slik de er nå

Fall in love with the imperfect. The unrefined and incomplete, the hurt and the broken.

I woke up with salty cheeks every morning, tasting the tears on the tip of my tounge. I tried to wrap my head around it, telling myself I was silly for mourning. As if someone had died. But in a way, I thought, I did die. I was no longer safe and love. I was not the me I had been for so long, the me I liked. That version was dead.

They say: if it makes you happy, do it. But if it can make you really happy or really sad, and you don't know which, then what do you do?

And so he hugged me tightly for a long time, and when he let me go I felt okay again. But he took my hand and looked at me for a long time without saying a word. When he broke the silence his eyes were ablaze and he said "I love you, and I have for so long. Please let me into your heart so we can be together, because I need that." I felt my heart break. He was all I had, and to fall in love with him would be everything, but what if I did it wrong and ruined it. What would then be left?


(PS. Hør på sanger du aldri blir lei av. Over and over and over.)


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Sunniva, 19. Studerer litteratur og kreativ skriving i England. Drikker te og drømmer.

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