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Original by Sam Muller

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1. Spit it into her voicemail, a little slurred and sounding like the shot whiskey you downed for courage. Feel as ashamed as you do walking into work in last night’s clothes. Wake up cringing for days, waiting for her to mention it. 2. Sigh it into her mouth, wedged in between teeth and tongues. Don’t even let your lips move when you say it, ever so lightly, into the air. Maybe it was just an exhalation of ecstasy. 3. Buy her flowers. Buy her chocolate. Buy her a teddy bear, because that’s what every romantic comedy has taught you. Take her out to a nice restaurant where neither of you feel comfortable and spend the whole night clearing your throat and tugging at your tie. Feel like your actions are more suited to a proposal than the simple confession of something you’ve always known. 4. Whisper it into her hair in the middle of the night, after you’ve counted the space between her breaths and are certain she’s asleep. Shut your eyes quickly when she shifts toward you in askance. Maybe you were just sleep whispering. 5. Blurt it out in the middle of an impromptu dance party in the kitchen, as clumsy as your two left feet. When time seems to freeze, hastily tack on “in that shirt” or “when you make your award-winning meatballs” or, if you are feeling particularly brave, “when we do this.” Resume dancing and pretend you don’t feel her eyes on you the rest of the night. 6. Write her a letter in which the amount of circumnavigating and angst could rival Mr. Darcy’s. Debate where to leave it all day – on her pillow? In her coat pocket? Throw it away in frustration, conveniently leaving it face up in the trashcan, her name scrawled on the front in your sloppy handwriting. Let her wonder if you meant it. 7. Wait until something terrible has happened and you can’t not tell her anymore. Wait until she almost gets hit by a car crossing Wabash against the light and after you are done cursing at the shit-for-brains cab drivers in this city, realize you are actually just terrified of living without her. Tell her with your hands shaking. 8. Say it deliberately, your tongue a springboard for every syllable. Over coffee, brushing your teeth side-by-side, as you turn off the light to go to sleep – it doesn’t matter where. Do not adorn it with extra words like “I think” or “I might.” Do not sigh heavily as if admitting it were a burden instead of the most joyous thing you’ve ever done. Look her in the eyes and pray, heart thumping wildly, that she will turn to you and say, “I love you too.”

8 Ways To Say I Love You By R. MCKINLEY (via obersts)

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Do you realize that all great literature is all about what a bummer it is to be a human being? Isn’t it such a relief to have somebody say that?

Kurt Vonnegut, A Man Without A Country (via obersts)

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A bouquet of clumsy words: You know that place between sleep and awake where you’re still dreaming but it’s slowly slipping? I wish we could feel like that more often. I also wish I could click my fingers three times and be transported to anywhere I like. I wish that people didn’t always say ‘just wondering’ when you both know there was a real reason behind them asking. And I wish I could get lost in the stars. Listen, there’s a hell of a good universe next door, let’s go.

- E.E. Cummings (via obersts)

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See, I’m the worst breed of human. Let me explain. Some people are dead inside. They go through life knowing this, and they manage fine enough, because, well, they’re dead inside. They aren’t bitter because they don’t care enough to change. They just try to get by with the things they can control. Others live in the fucking clouds, watch romantic comedies, and dream about everything being perfect one day. These people are always fine because they have an everlasting well of hope inside them, and no matter what happens they’ll just romanticize their existence. But when it comes to me…I’m someone who’s mostly dead inside but still has a little hope for something extraordinary, which, as I said, is the worst breed of human, because it means that I know everything is bullshit, but that I secretly hope for the day when it might not be. The tension makes me wish I were just completely dead inside. It would makes things much easier for me.

Isn’t It Pretty To Think So?, Nick Miller (via obersts)

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I love unmade beds. I love when people are drunk and crying and cannot be anything but honest in that moment. I love the look in people’s eyes when they realize they’re in love. I love the way people look when they first wake up and they’ve forgotten their surroundings. I love the gasp people take when their favorite character dies. I love when people close their eyes and drift to somewhere in the clouds. I fall in love with people and their honest moments all the time. I fall in love with their breakdowns and their smeared makeup and their daydreams. Honesty is just too beautiful to ever put into words.

(via obersts)

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Ali Michael by Chadwick Tyler || Tumblr

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Hell is loving you in my sleep and waking up alone.

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The three saddest things are the ill wanting to be well, the poor wanting to be rich, and the constant traveler saying ‘anywhere but here.’

E.E. Cummings (via epikhi)

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You don’t notice the way someone occupies your physical being until you notice the faded bruises, the way your bobby pins litter the spaces between his shaving cream and hair gel, the way his shoes are lined up next to yours.

You don’t notice the way he has occupied your mind and your heart until he has to leave.

Jumbo – n. He sent you the world’s most obnoxiously large bouquet. It isn’t even Valentine’s Day. For days on end, your house smells like roses.

Vitriolic – adj. It was your second nature to fight me on this.

“You don’t even know for certain if you’d be good at it.”

And that’s what scared me.

Wraith – n.

Yours haunts the places we have been together, the spaces we have occupied, the things we have done and seen and spoken about. Yours rests on my head, whispering into my ear in its’ own time.

My body filled the spaces yours did not in the bunk.

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Garble – v. Maybe it was that even after all that time, I still had no idea how to tell you a god damn thing. Even if I spoke in English, even if you sat there patiently, waiting for me to pull my words together, I could only manage to look away and struggle to string together more than three words. I tried so hard and yet, those times when I couldn’t pull together a god damn sentence, you didn’t know what to do with me.

Pococurante – adj. The early conversations you struck up with me, while I was sober, made me a little nervous. You were flippant and seemed to watch me with a cautious eye, like I would bite at any second. Even if I’d realized you were testing me – gauging my reactions, learning which buttons to push – you kept up a façade of nonchalant, of boredom so impenetrable I didn’t realize what you really felt until it was almost too late.

Tantalize – v. It was not my fault you were fifteen hours on the other side of the Pacific and I’d gotten a new swimsuit.

Yearn – v. i.        Every time you left for another tour, ii.       Every time I was in bed without you, iii.      Every time I think about your voice, iv.      Every time I am by myself, whether it’s here or there, wondering if you are thinking of me, too.