"I met a girl who said she wanted to be the cigarette you smoke every morning. She said she wanted to be the smoke that crawls down your throat and clouds up your lungs. She wanted to be the nicotine that rests on your lips so you could taste her all day. She never once thought that by doing so she’d kill you. You see, I just want to be the ashtray. I want to put out the thing that kills you. I want to save you from everything toxic even if it means I am not the taste on your tongue. You said that the end to your cigarette break was your least favorite part of your day. You said you wish there were no ashtray calling your name because the cigarette took away the pain, and whenever you weren’t smoking, you were unsettled and disarrayed. I guess that’s when I knew you could never love me."
reasons why I can’t walk past the smoke shop anymore (via decayings)
"Most things about me are hard to explain, I guess, like how I’m mostly delusional and live in a half-imaginary world but am also a realist to the core. I’m just a bunch of contradictions most of the time and I don’t like it, but I also do."