It happens that I want you, and so I just haven’t room for any other desires.
F. Scott Fitzgerald (via uglypoem)
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My eyelids are heavy, and the night’s wearing on
Your story’s familiar, and your innocence is gone
We’d burn like the morning then break like your heart
Fall in love without warning just to fall back apart
All fevered and blistered, with nothing at stake
I feel the warmth of her whisper, and the cold of my mistakes
Her soul in the balance, my heart in her hands
I made her a widow, she made me a man.
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