(Source: synodik, via lockedinsidemyself)
You can sit here for minutes, hours or even days and tell me how terrible of a person you think I am. You can curse my name, threaten my life and make me out to be a rotten human. But once it truly comes down to it, you don’t know me. You’ve never taken the time to ask me how I am doing, what I want and how I feel. I’ve wasted so many precious moments waiting around for you to run back to me. I am known for turning words around, situations around and lives around. I’m not a perfect person and I’ve never said I was. If you loved me, you’d deal with me. You’d work around it all. You’d see pass my negative slurs or my thought out disagreements. You’d search for the remaining memories that we had left of one another. But during this time, it seems like how it used to; I’m the one sitting here, brokenhearted because you were too prideful to look at me in the eyes and tell me that I’m not the only one who is wrong. I want you to so badly take me into your arms and kiss the mistakes away. I wish that you would think I was beautiful, that I was more than what I truly am. I feel so low and you are still so very high.
— Sylvia Plath (via flentes)