This love or whatever you want to call it, it’s the closest thing to real I ever lived through. All the other ones slowly killed a piece of me. Nothing was ever taken for me; parts just started to disappear. I remember looking into the mirror one morning, how I noticed a shade of pink had vanished from my cheeks. Maybe it’s nothing to you, nothing to anybody but me, yet I’ve stayed clear from mirrors ever since, too scared to see that by now there’s nothing left.
I’m telling you this because you should know. You should know that of all the things I said, of all the things I did, of all the parts that together appear to be my life, you are the one I want to remember. If I could keep you, I would, I’d tell you a new story every day and be the best liar the world has ever seen. Instead I write to you, to tell you what I want you to know most of all:
Maybe you didn’t get my all, but you sure got my best.
These Are the Words I’ll Never Share: Thought Catalog (via prima-volta)