People always say that it hurts at night and apparently screaming into your pillow at 3am is the romantic equivalent of being heartbroken.
But sometimes, it’s 9am on a tuesday morning and you’re standing at the kitchen bench waiting for the toast to pop up.
And the smell of dusty sunlight and earl gray tea makes you miss him so much, you don’t know what to do with your hands.Rosie Scanlan, On Missing Them (via drapetomania)
The tiny indent of your chest curved
between the wings of my back was
always the easiest apology you
could give. And some days,
my vertebrae remembers
how easy it was to sink
itself back into you, in
return — missing me
forgiving you; (&
sometimes just missing you.)