It’s September
And your body reminds me of the sun
Of lying next to the fire on a cold December day
I feel so comforted and content
My head resting on your chest
Ours legs more tangled than my headphones
The warmth you give off, god it’s so perfect
We share 2 am kisses
That are better than coffee and Christmas
And finding money on the floor when you’re 7
I feel rich
You treat me like a diamond

It’s April
And when I’m beside you I feel like it’s about to rain
And never stop
It feels like a hurricane is coming
You’re not the sun
You’re a natural disaster
Beautiful but dangerous
I feel soggy and drained
You treat me like I’m the puddle that just ruined your new shoes

It’s July
And now you’re gone
The aftermath is worst
Because I can try to restore what was broken
But one can never really mend a cracked heart
You can never quite remember
How the warmth felt before the fire went out
I feel burned
You treat me like I’m ashes and you’re the whistling wind

― (via intoxicatingly-iridescent)

A modern poem.

(via makeshiftcapo)
Sofro por antecipação, morro antes de levar o tiro.
Caio Augusto Leite.       (via perenar)