literary sext: Tell me you don’t know how to midnight without me. Send me a picture of that empty space on the couch beside you. Say this is yours; this loneliness for love when the sun is off dreaming. Tell me you can see the ghost of me curling up, wrapping myself around your warmth. Tell me this is how the sky must feel when she meets the horizon. This is how it feels to come home.

You are a hurricane of a girl; remember to breathe every once in a while, do not drown within your own storm.

I want the stardust on your fingertips to burn throughout me, to cover every inch of my skin. With every breath and kiss and caress, I want to spread that stardust back all over you, make it rush across your skin, until we’re both lying together, sparkling and shining like the night sky.

Some girls want to be constellations. I want to be the fire you can’t put out.

Fuck your soft words. Compare me not to stars But to storms, to hurricanes and typhoons. See me not for my beauty and fire See me for the natural disaster I am. Fuck your soft words Because I am not soft.