Livre Choses que je te veux faire.
Anonymous asked:
what kind of freaks you into
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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.
I love being horribly straightforward. I love sending reckless text messages (because how reckless can a form of digitized communication be?) and telling people I love them and telling people they are absolutely magical humans and I cannot believe they really exist. I love saying, Kiss me harder, and You’re a good person, and, You brighten my day. I live my life as straight-forward as possible.
Because one day, I might get hit by a bus.Maybe it’s weird. Maybe it’s scary. Maybe it seems downright impossible to just be—to just let people know you want them, need them, feel like, in this very moment, you will die if you do not see them, hold them, touch them in some way whether its your feet on their thighs on the couch or your tongue in their mouth or your heart in their hands.
But there is nothing more beautiful than being desperate.
And there is nothing more risky than pretending not to care.
We are young and we are human and we are beautiful and we are not as in control as we think we are. We never know who needs us back. We never know the magic that can arise between ourselves and other humans.
We never know when the bus is coming.
Rachel C. Lewis, Tell The People You Love That You Love Them. (via perrfectly)
sext: i see you without my glasses on, and sure, that might be medically improbable that i can’t see much else, but once, i read that even a sea away, dionysus heard ariadne scream for her horned brother, and he’s waited for her since. i guess all i can say is that i’d wait for you too.
text messages from those descended from gods pt. 1 || bsc (via bunnycorcorans)
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.
Hey, it’s me. You probably don’t want to hear from me, but this is the last time. Promise. Just hear me out, okay? You and me, one last time down memory lane.
I’m sorry how everything turned out, how we can’t even keep a text conversation past ‘how are you’ and ‘good.’ How everything seems to be tainted by some ulterior motive, and everything feels like heartbreak. But I don’t regret any of the time spent with you, and I hope you don’t regret any of the talks we had until 3AM or our friendship.
I hope you know that even though we can’t look at each other, I’m still here for you. If you call, I’ll be on the other end of the phone. Always.
I care deeply about you, which is why this is the last time I’m calling.
voicemail #1 // c.h. (via pro-mov-ere)
This is a reactive relationship.
It’s simply me waiting on you.
Me waiting
on your text back,
for you to seem interested,
for you to dig deeper, to grab a hold of this notion of us
on you to choose me.
Everyday.
Not just when it’s convenient for you.
I’m done waiting.
I’m done being a reaction to your snaps and whims.
the world doesn’t run on your time (via letsfreethewords)
I saw your message/email/text/voicemail and told myself I’d return it later when I was more awake/alert/in a better mood/had more information and I pretty much forgot about it until now I’m sorry I’m trash: an autobiography
