"I’ve stopped being sorry for all my soft. I won’t apologise because I miss you, or because I said it, or because I text you first, or again. I think everyone spends too much time trying to close themselves off. I don’t want to be cool or indifferent, I want to be honest. If I love you at 5AM, I’d damn well rather that you know I felt it. If I love you two hours later, I’ll tell you then too. Listen, I won’t wait double the time it takes for you to text me back because I don’t want to. I don’t care enough to be patient with you. I’m happy, you made me feel that way, don’t you want to know? So that’s how it’s going to be. I’m going to leave myself as open as a church door. And I’m going to wake you up before the crack of dawn to tell you that I’m fucking joyful, no pretending, not from me, not ever. Would you like some coffee, would you please kiss me? Here, these are my hands, this is my mouth, it is all yours."
“Don’t Wait Three Days to Text First.” (via cirea)
"I feel very transparent in myself. I’m more of an observer. I’m interested in what’s going on. I’m not sure that I really have a personality. Some people think I do have a personality. I have a personality when I am with certain people — but when I’m not with them I don’t have that personality. I just sort of go back to resembling a transparent glass of water."
"Is it wrong that I think about fucking
you all the time?
In my head, I have your body down
to a science.
I know how to make you beg and I know
where to put my hands.
We touch each other like piano keys
and it is beautiful, the way we sing.
Maybe there are some things you
just shouldn’t say out loud.
Maybe that way you never have to
apologize for them.
It’s Wednesday and I am out of my mind.
I am counting the tiles on the kitchen
floor just for some peace.
1, 2, 3, we don’t even make it to the bed, 4, 5, 6, I bite your neck and draw blood, 7, 8.
My mom asks me what I am thinking
about and I want to throw up.
I keep counting.
Want is an ache that won’t leave me be,
even when I sleep.
On Thanksgiving, I am going
to lick the cranberry sauce off of
my fingers and wish it was you."
"I was drawn to all the wrong things: I liked to drink, I was lazy, I didn’t have a god, politics, ideas, ideals. I was settled into nothingness; a kind of non-being, and I accepted it. I didn’t make for an interesting person. I didn’t want to be interesting, it was too hard. What I really wanted was only a soft, hazy space to live in, and to be left alone."