The idea of you being tangible and full of bones and covered in flesh is astounding to me. Is this real? Are you real?
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I can only think of a few words to summarize how this feels. As a verbal person descriptions, concision, and accuracy matter; But you make me stutter and stumble, grasping for any substitute for the reality of what this is. It’s intimidating; it’s amazing. It’s _______.
(Source: singmylittlesong, via kellybrooke)
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I’m waiting for the sun. I’m waiting for that morning when I wake up and realize that I’m okay on my own and I have been for a while.
“Even the darkest hour has only sixty minutes.”
Do you remember that day? We went to that deli downtown and found what we thought was fate. We laughed then at how silly it was not to have seen it. We laugh now to realize how silly we were not to have seen what was coming. Knives met backs. I would have drank your blood that night. We were so high on craze and lust and I swear it to this day, I would have had your blood with my dinner. I guess it’s better that we kept our skin together while our heads felt apart. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. But I’m taller than you and I never felt like a girl but I always felt like a child.
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Someone to light my cigarettes for me.
That’d be nice.
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I am not the type to prosper from physical health. I do best under pressure, I feel prettiest after a bad night/real tantrum. I come when it hurts. Fuck not smoking, fuck eating fruit in replacement, fuck caffeine detox. I may now believe in God, but I am still a worthless sinner. And I’m okay with that.
(via kellybrooke)
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This isn’t about you in bed. I never let you make me come.
It’s not about what you said. I never let myself believe you.
And it’s not about how you touched me. I never let you kiss me.
You’re not the subject of all of my sentences. I never let myself care.
Did you think you were being upfront? You weren’t. I was forward and fair and set a moral standard. You knew I would be a real admirer if you played your cards right; You knew I’d polish the pedestal you built for yourself. I’m not ignoring you like some bitter ex. “Oh, I’ll just let him sweat this out. That’ll teach him!” was my thought at first, but I’m not your girlfriend. Girlfriends get kissed by their boyfriend. Girlfriends meet their boyfriend’s friends. Girlfriends don’t sleep with other people. Girlfriends would call their boyfriends and yell in frustration for them being such a dick and so insensitive and blah blah motherfucking blah. Get over yourself.
This isn’t about you breaking my heart. I never let myself love you. I never let myself care.
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This is why I’m waiting. I vaguely remember what it’s like to eskimo kiss, to rustle someone’s hair because we just woke up and why not. Because I remember fingers running down my spine, words of worry about how crooked and cute I am. My skin is soft, my voice cracks, my lips will meet in the middle. I’m worth the wait, I’m worth the work. At least I keep trying to convince myself of that.
Where is my counterpart?
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Too bad I’m strychnine.
(via kellybrooke)
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You are the first person I’ve been able to sleep with. You are the only person who has ever touched me because you wanted to feel the skin that carries my bones, my thoughts. You are the only person who has ever called me gorgeous. You are the only person who has ever made me blush when you stumble on who I am to you. I am not your boss. I’m your favorite. Waking up has never felt so good.
