It’s mad depressing when u eat the last piece of candy but you didn’t look at the bag and realize it was the last one so you could truly appreciate it for what it was worth
i always think “if people want to talk to me they will” which is my reasoning for never really starting conversations so i’m permanently thinking no one wants to talk but what if they’re sat there thinking the same and it’s just this cycle of silence that never gets broken because i’m too stubborn to just put myself out there
like the worst thing ever is when you’re talking about something you really love to someone and you can just tell that they dont give a shit
I want to hear about what keeps you up in the late hours of the night—the reason you can’t seem to get any sleep. And I’d like to hear it in the late hours of the night when we’re alone and you’re vulnerable. I want you to tell me the story behind your scars, your silence, and your sadness. I do not want you to share your happy memories of others, if any, because they do not consist of me. I do not want to hear about anyone else, because they do not matter to me. And I do not want you to ask about me, because all I want to know is you.
I am selfish and ignorant. But this ignorance, that has helped me take great risks, brought me to you. And this destructive selfishness seems to be the only way I’ll ever get to know you—even though you will never get to know me.