Being a person didn't come naturally to me the way it seemed to for others. People who were sure of themselves awed me. I studied them and tried to mimic their ease.
I don't want to beg. I know you can feel it, my longing, the aching, my need for love. I don't want to beg. But oh god— Oh god, please. Please. Love me. Love me.
I am eternally, devastatingly romantic, and I thought people would see it because ‘romantic’ doesn’t mean ‘sugary.’ It’s dark and tormented — the furor of passion, the despair of an idealism that you can’t attain.
Before I die, I want to be somebody's favourite hiding place, the place they can put everything they know they need to survive, every secret, every solitude, every nervous prayer, and be absolutely certain I will keep it safe. I will keep it safe.
To say we were 'in love', that vague weakened phrase, cannot express it. We loved each other, we lived in each other, through each other, by each other. We were each other.
hello dearest readers. apologies, but i do not plan on paying twitter for any of their services upon the new update this coming february 9th. this bot will continue to stay up after the fact, of course, but i’m afraid this may be where we have to say goodbye ):
My father is a good man. Sort of. He is good when I compare him to His own father, and that’s enough. I hope. My father and I are more alike than I’d care to admit, and whenever I feel Pure rage, I know I am my father’s daughter.
I long for you; I who usually longs without longing, as though I am unconscious and absorbed in neutrality and apathy, really, utterly long for every bit of you.
I could recognize him by touch alone, by smell; I would know him blind, by the way his breaths came and his feet struck the earth. I would know him in death, at the end of the world.
Not all love is gentle. Sometimes it’s gritty and dirty and possessive, sometimes it’s not supposed to be careful or soft at all. Sometimes it feels like teeth.
I am constantly trying to communicate something incommunicable, to explain something inexplicable, to tell about something I only feel in my bones and which can only be experienced in those bones.
I touch you, straighten the sheet, you turn over / in the bed, tender / sun comes through the curtains / Which of us will survive / which of us will survive the other.