myopennotebook

Every fucking day I realize how lucky I am, and every fucking day I hate myself for one reason or another. And every step feels like a blunder, and I’ve forgotten how to mind my p’s and q’s and I keep crossing i’s and dotting the skyline with thoughts of someone else, the sheer terror and thrill of hoping, of feeling new lips shiver headlong into unfamiliar territory, of feeling new fingers find mine in the dark and move my hands wherever they’re meant to be. And sometimes I just want to destroy everything and hermit myself into any beautiful woman’s arms, and sometimes I just want to be sitting on a San Diego beach, at dusk, with the last band of pink hanging over the water, and the first stars peering out from black of the impending night. 

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