Clementine Riesling

Soy una clementina borracha.
"

It’s not that I don’t love you. It’s the sound I heard when I was 9 and my father slammed the front door so hard behind him I swear to god it shook the whole house. For the next 3 years I watched my mother break her teeth on vodka bottles. I think she stopped breathing when he left. I think part of her died. I think he took her heart with him when he walked out. Her chest is empty, just a shattered mess or cracked ribs and depression pills.

It’s not that I don’t love you. It’s all the blood in the sink. It’s the night that I spent 12 hours in the emergency room waiting to see if my sister was going to be okay, after the boy she loved, told her he didn’t love her anymore. It’s the crying, and the fluorescent lights, and white sneakers and pale faces and shaky breaths and blood. So much blood.

It’s not that I don’t love you. It’s the time that I had to stay up for two days straight with my best friend while she cried and shrieked and threw up on my bedroom floor because her boyfriend fucked his ex. I swear to god she still has tear streaks stained onto her cheeks. I think when you love someone, it never really goes away.

It’s not that I don’t love you. It’s the six weeks we had a substitute in English because our teacher was getting divorced and couldn’t handle getting out of bed. When she came back she was smiling. But her hands shook so hard when she held her coffee, you could see that something was broken inside. And sometimes when things break, you can’t fix them. Nothing ever goes back to how it was. I got an A in English that year. I think her head was always spinning too hard to read any essays.

It’s not that I don’t love you. It’s that I do.

"

It’s not that I don’t love you.  (via extrasad)

this is so brilliant

(via hellotitsy)

(via insomniappple)

— 4 weeks ago with 256770 notes
"La mayoría de las personas anhelan encontrarse algún día con un amor pasado. Yo no lo deseo, para mí sería como volver a escribir un mismo poema, como llorar la misma lágrima. Y tal vez, ahora si moriría si repitiese su partida."
Vismundo, notas de una realidad.  (via vismundo)
— 3 months ago with 361 notes
"La mayoría de las personas anhelan encontrarse algún día con un amor pasado. Yo no lo deseo, para mí sería como volver a escribir un mismo poema, como llorar la misma lágrima. Y tal vez, ahora si moriría si repitiese su partida."
Vismundo, notas de una realidad.  (via vismundo)
— 3 months ago with 361 notes
"El diálogo entre almas, el incendio por dentro; pocas veces logramos entender ese lenguaje, pocas veces le prestamos atención."
ideasviajando (M. Sierra Villanueva)

(Source: ideasviajando)

— 3 months ago with 74 notes
Cap. 2014 pág. 183 de 365 →

ideasviajando:

Sé leer entre líneas.
Sé descifrar esos misterios que se esconden entre cada letra. Sé cuando hay espacios, abismos, angustias. Sé ver el amor de lejos y las tempestades de un corazón enamorado. Sé romper silencios, sé mirar el te quiero en una carta de despedida, sé encontrar el quédate en el…

(Source: deshojandolosdias.blogspot.com)

— 3 months ago with 55 notes
Fragmento:

ideasviajando:

¿Qué es irse? ¿Decir adiós solamente? No creo. Irse es desenredarse, caminar sin maletas, volar sin huir; volar porque sí. Irse es establecer un límite, no escribir sobre ti, soltarte la mano, dejar de habitar en tus adentros. Irse es mirarte y no deshacerme, es dejar de aferrarme a la puerta, es decidir ir al frente. Es dejar de anudar te quieros para ti, es soltar los sueños en común, es abrir los ojos, es tomar una bocanada de aire y avanzar sin mirar atrás.

(M. Sierra Villanueva)

— 3 months ago with 68 notes