it’s winter and icy and when you walk home, the streets are as empty as you feel. the plastic grocery bags are cutting into your wrist and your hands are going numb. from lack of blood circulation or the freezing temperature, you aren’t quite sure, but it makes you pick up your pace anyways. there’s snow falling softly and christmas trees in windows and it takes a lot for you not to start crying on the fucking street corner. it’s lonely. you’re lonely. you wish you didn’t know that it was 400 days since you last held someone’s hand, 268 since your last intoxicated make out. 84 days ago was the last time you hugged someone. it was a stranger behind you in line at the coffeeshop. the one who lent you the dollar you were short on. “yeah, no problem.” he said brashly, surprised at your sudden display of affection. you walk home to an empty apartment and an empty bed. you lie down and try to ignore the restlessness in your bloodstream. it’s like your skin is buzzing for it; for contact, for touch. you feel like you miss something you’ve never known.
— when you’re lonely and lost and desperate for love. j.l.l. (via not-poetic)
Anonymous asked: liking it doesn't count, i need real commitment. i need a reblog. pls and ty.
I hate you a lot but ALRIGHT