- Sylvia Plath

In my dreams, your hair is still blond, even though it’s clearly brunette in your instagram profile picture. I stare at it after I wake up, glancing at the lock to show your posts are private. You still smile openly. It says “kate,” but that was never your nickname when I knew you.

I still know you, I know your smile. It’s the same and I know this because you go from 16 in my dreams to 22 in that silly picture. You’re holding a dog, but it’s not your poodle. I wonder his name and wish you still send silly snaps that I learned Bob’s name from. I stare at that too. It’s ugly.

The bitmoji, I mean. Never you. You were the beautiful one between the two of us. I remember staring at you studying for hours, it’s always after you finish quieting my sobs. I hate my family, you were more a sister to me. You were more than a sister to me.

We stopped talking because you sent nudes to the guy I liked. I never liked him, I never liked the way he saw you naked. Before I got to. And wasnt that sick? That I would wonder when you’d be comfortable enough to show me something up close like your chest. It didn’t seem as personal seeing as you lived inside of mine.

Your name isn’t “Kate.” You don’t like weiner dogs, they remind you of sausage and you’re a vegetarian. You love volkswagen beetles, but theres a jeep behind you. You also hate profile pictures. When I meant more to you, it was a picture of us. We were covering our face in my backyard. Being silly teens, and we printed it out at school just because we wanted proof.

I want proof of you. I imagine you under me, arms wrapped around my neck as I breathe onto your chest. You rub your hands over my hair, whispering how much you’ve missed me. I missed you more, and I prove it with my tongue. I claim you and keep you under me, protected and safe. Away from boys, the world, my family. Away from a world where I stare at your private instagram profile at 4 in the morning and I’ve got work in 3 hours and my hand’s aching and I want you back even as my best friend and you’re at college upstate and I could just drive the 6 hours and scare you or i could simply message the number that I hope is still yours with a “hi.” I don’t text you at all.

I live quietly until the ache comes back, and I open instagram on my phone again.

When I think about my ex best friend and wish I could tell her everything going on in my life again.

by @oioi_46

my favorite sterek fics are the ones where Derek becomes a deputy and works with Stiles’ dad and they become this mini family unit of crime fighters. like sheriff stilinski just wants to support his son and be in his life and that means adopting his grumpy wolfy boyfriend and if looking out for his new family means Derek joins the local police department

,,, well ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ we get steamy gun scenes and breakfast with organic pancakes fluff

— Nitya Prakash

forcing yourself to love the little things.

going outside and being miserable. just to have said that you went outside that day.

listening to music that makes your teeth clench.

wearing clothes that squeeze you too tight so you can look put together.

it’s a ruse. it’s a cover up. it’s a poor excuse for a life. but fuck- at least i’m trying to live it?

Leila Chatti, from “Tea”

ALSO DOES THIS NOT SEEM LIKE DEREK AND STILES TO YOU? IS THAT WHO I AM NOW? LIKE FROM COMFORT CHARACTER TO BECOMING HIM?

It’s like the yin to my yang.

Sterek but they’re in high school together AU ♡

what if, instead of texting you, i just talk here and fantasize about you reading it?

i imagine you stumbling upon this and realizing that i still love you. i mean, it’s right here! on this post! made just for you!

everything i write these days is for you.

everything thought i make has your smile in it. buried between letters and my fingers moving to tap on this keyboard. it’s to the rhythm of your heart.

bump, bump, bump.

mine is speeding up, if you are reading this of course. i can see you shocked still- swiping to our messages at the bottom of your logs, hovering over your own letters.

do you remember my face enough? can you capture it like i do yours?

god your heart is still beating in my head. i remember after our first kiss, i laid my ear against your chest and heard it for the first time.

bump, bump, bump,,,,

and it never. stopped.

come home to me

or at least

write me a letter