Somewhere on the other side of this wide night and the distance between us, I am thinking of you. The room is turning slowly away from the moon.

Do not call me perfect, a lie is never a compliment. Call me an erratic damaged and insecure mess. Then tell me that you love me for it.

you fall asleep with his fingertips burning through your skin and you can still feel his teeth pressed against yours long after he’s dropped you off at home and his voice lights up in your head and pushes away everything that could possibly be bad. He’s everything now. And god everything tastes so good. But six months later you come home shaking, followed by a trail of blood and teardrops, and your happiness is leaking out of you into a puddle on the floor and you’re down on your knees trying to shove it all back into your chest while you scream “OH GOD MOM HE KISSED HER OH GOD”