If I don't get constant reassurance, I'll die.

muscle memory is so beautiful to me. my body remembered better than i did. yet we're the same thing, with the same memory.

It is a strange feeling- not heartbreak, not rejection, but something quieter than that. Like finding out you have been reading your own life slightly wrong for a while.

wanting intimacy but refusing to participate in hookup culture because i'm only sexually attracted whenn i'm emotionally attached to someone is its own hell

I hate how physical touch as a love language always gets reduced to sex and kissing, it is actually the little things… holding hands for no reason, laying your head on their shoulder, throwing your legs across their lap, tracing their palm with your finger, tucking your cold feet under their thighs. just touching because you crave their closeness, not because you want something more. the pure, soft intimacy hits different.

Not big on love anymore. But, Oh man, you should've seen me when I was...

You have beautiful hands. I wonder what they look like gripping my waist. I wonder what they look like trembling. I wonder what they'd write on my skin if I let them.