A.Twist.In.My.Story

and you see him for the first time again, something in your heart breaks and heals at once, an implosion that sends you moving, moving, kissing him because of course, this is ridiculous, who cares who’s watching: the sky can darken and the sun can go out and teeth can snap but here, here in his arms. this is the only moment that matters and he is the only one you’ve thought of for months now, and maybe you’re not good at emotions, maybe you’re too good at hiding things behind a joke: but he’s real. and he matters in a way nothing else does. so you kiss him, and hope he knows.

i wanna get drunk and watch harry potter with you in big comfy pajamas, nestled against your body. i want to discuss with you the fact movie ron is nothing like book ron while we plan a trip to harry potter world that we’ll never go on. 

Me: “I don’t need sex”

Me: *shows basic human decency to cashier

I went out with this cute guy today, had a really fun time, later we sat at the park and he kissed me and he was really sweet, then he went to hold my hand with the excuse "wow my hands are so cold". I brought my gloves in case it got cold, totally forgot about them but when he said he was cold my brain just went "GIVE HIM YOUR GLOVES DAMNIT!!!" and I asked without thinking if he wanted them. He told me that was a sick burn and I felt kind of embarrased cuz I actually wanted to give the gloves

conversation 1: cheese borger

If I miss you well, that’s my fault.

Of course, I wonder if they love me back, which is, really, besides the point. I don’t do it to be adored, I do it because my love keeps getting bigger and that’s what happens.

every direction I move has always been, will one day be, once was, and always is toward the precarious cliff of your collarbone.

“Let someone love you just the way you are-– as flawed as you might be, as unattractive as you sometimes feel, and as unaccomplished as you think you are. To believe that you must hide all the parts of you that are broken, out of fear that someone else is incapable of loving what is less than perfect, is to believe that sunlight is incapable of entering a broken window and illuminating a dark room.”