"Whatcha thinkin’ bout?"
"Stars and stuff"
I observe life more than I live it.
I just want to be kissed. I want to be held at the waist and split open by someone’s mouth until I am no longer whole. I want to forget where I am, why I am there, how I got there in the first place. I want to be pressed up against walls, pinned against floors, and reclined against counters.
A good kiss is a performance—an event.
Nothing matches the way your blood pulses under your skin when someone leans in to kiss you—reaches for your heart with their mouth—and holds on to your body like they are a blind man and you are a slippery rock face. Nothing compares to someone who pays attention to how you kiss them and knows that just like love—we all kiss the way we want to be kissed.
A good kiss has its own area code.
Its own continent.
Its own fucking galaxy.
Those damn eyes fucked me forever.
i always think “if people want to talk to me they will” which is my reasoning for never really starting conversations so i’m permanently thinking no one wants to talk but what if they’re sat there thinking the same and it’s just this cycle of silence that never gets broken because i’m too stubborn to just put myself out there
One day I will have a house like this with tons of plants and a cat and I will be happy
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