Randalesucht

“Don't be in a hurry to love me. Don't spill all your love on me so quickly, because hurried loves leak through the fingers to the ground. They sweeten beyond what we can bear and make us sick, craving a pinch of salt. So if you're going to love me anyway, love me slowly. Love me in detail, in consistency, just a little bit every day, and for the rest of our lives.”

I think people would be happier if they admitted things more often. In a sense we are all prisoners of some memory, or fear, or disappointment—we are all defined by something we can’t change.

"I like your name"

“Let’s continue this conversation in bed, she whispered, my legs can’t wait to hear what your hands have to say.”