Status: Miss me?
Joined: April 16, 2011
Last Seen: 1 month
Birthday: November 4
user id: 165851
Location: Hyrule
Gender: F
I'm Rachelle, I'm 17, and I like white hot chocolate.
"I believed that I wanted to be a poet, but deep down I just wanted to be a poem."
tumblr | writing instagram | 8tracks | more links

Quotes by halfempty

Because I remember how it felt to be inexplainably in love.
And i remember how it felt to miss a touch you hadn't received yet.
I remembered yearning for hellos and being devastated over goodnights.
I remember my bones turning to dust under your fingertips
and my skin shifting with the heat of your mouth.
I remember how it felt to sacrifice my own happiness for yours
but what i can't remember is what I did to make you forget
every time that I made your nerves dance.
I can't remember what I did to deserve laying in the parking lot
with a shattered heart at four in the morning
and I can't remember how you had been capable of being so cruel.
- r.m.

They say that smiles are contagious.
and it’s true that she catches yours like a fever
But I’m skeptical,
Because her prideful smirks
are laced with your taste
And even the idea of her lips on yours
hits me like a truck.

"Who smiles after being run over?" - r.m
          The first time you told me that you loved me I knew it wasn’t true. I read each word from a glass phone screen through squints at 11 pm and no resentment or confusion surpassed the excitement embedded in each of my muscles. I knew you were young and you were naive and you weren’t experienced enough to know that love wasn’t simply a minor fascination with another human being. I wanted to show you what love felt like when it was screamed at 3 am. I wanted to let you be there when our affection splashed out of the puddles we jumped in, or when it ran down your face like your tears the night that we watched The Notebook on your mothers couch. I wanted our adoration to be bright enough to tan our skin in winter and I wanted our passion to pool like the blood behind the skin on my cheeks when you kissed me for the first time. I wanted to be the last one you ever assumed to be in love with merely because my eyes smiled at yours or because you liked how my skin smelled like vanilla. And judging by the booming echo your heart made when it cracked the day I walked away, I succeeded.
         She had an elegant habit of breathing out words like cigarette smoke, each syllable scattering before they had the chance to connect into comprehensive phrases. There were i-n-g’s and “are”s in confusingly inappropriate contexts, and nearly every sentence had a tendency to shift into french before they even slipped halfway out of her dark lipstick-stained lips. Although, surprisingly, considering her incredible passion for travel, not one tip of her stiletto heels had ever come into contact with French soil. You’d be able to tell her personality as soon as you heard her speak. And, please, don’t let her “darling”s and beautiful, melodious voice fool you into believing that she’ll stay with you forever, because I can guarantee that she’ll be planning a new adventure with every breath she takes. An adventure that you won’t be a part of.
        Despite the considerable droop underneath her eyes, and the spontaneous adaptations in her mood, she was flawless. Whether it be six in the morning or half past twilight in the evening, each stitch of her dress managed to rest calmly on her deeply tanned skin, and the wind was never strong enough to blow her voluminous coffee colored hair out of place. She carried herself in a way that conveyed confidence without being overbearing and unapproachable. In fact, it was difficult for her to walk down the busy streets of Manhattan without being stopped once, or twice, or six times. Occasionally, desperate men follow her wide-brimmed hats all the way back to her apartment. These are the times when she feels the most alone.
"She's a puzzle, but she's worth solving." - r.m.

All I have left of you are love notes from back when
You let the blood in your veins morph into ink.
You would dedicate yourself to transferring each one of
Your thoughts from your brain onto blue-lined paper
Simply for the purpose of painting a smile on my face.
But, I think when you sat down to write the last one,
you ran yourself dry.
Maybe you pressed down too hard and got carried away
and accidentally let your memories and emotions
attach themselves too tightly to your delightful adjectives
Until everything we went through had exited your mind.
Because, as soon as the letter left your hands,
every ounce of compassion drained from your features
and suddenly you looked at me as if I had never kissed your lips.
Now, no matter how desperately I try to extract the smell
of your skin from the seemingly ancient paper, there’s no use.
You’re not there anymore.

One day,
you decided that you liked writing in pen rather than graphite,
but that was okay because you still took the time to pass me notes.
The next month,
you took back your hatred for loose change and
started carrying fifty cents around in your pockets,
but that was okay because now you could get snacks from the vending machine.
Ten weeks later,
you stopped wearing the shoes I gave you
because you said the boots from your mom were more comfortable,
but that’s okay, because mother is always right.
31 days after that,
you asked for a room redecoration, fully aware that once it was done
every trace of my skin in your bed would be wiped away,
but that was okay because I swore to always support you.
I didn’t expect to be the next thing you moved on from.

I'm obsessively painting my nails.
Maybe red will make the feeling of your hips
drain from the tips of my fingers or
Maybe yellow and green will cause the memory
of touching your face to fade from my brain and
Maybe if I keep my cuticles covered
I won't see your reflection in them.
I don't know.
There's nothing else I can do.
This is a desperate last resort.

My thoughts are as dark as my room at 3 am.

You spent 365 days
tying my veins in knots and
rewiring my vocal chords so that
I couldn't speak anything besides your name,
but you forgot to fix me before you left.
I’m here with blood that can't circulate and
Limbs that are aching from the
pressure In each of my vessels.
I'm biting my tongue because each syllable
of your name is enough to set my throat ablaze.
I'm beginning to forget
what my own voice sounds like.

You hit me like an earthquake
and now I’m left with nothing but
broken walls and
terrible bouts of aftershock.