“When you kiss me, your lips upon mine, your kisses taste so sweet, just like a glass of good wine”— Anthony Hincks (via neckkiss)
Say it with me:
I’ve worked so hard and I’m not about to give up now.
Literally just romanticize your own life. What’s stopping you. Who will care. Commit to enjoying things.
me looking back on how i self destructed: she really did that!
“I wonder if he knows how easily I take away pieces of him to call home. How different moments of us are littered around a house that doesn’t really feel like my own. On a wall in my bedroom sitting in a picture frame leaning a little too much to the left is our first kiss. The darkness of the theatre took away our sight, but only enhance what we could feel. We fumbled in the dark with our lips yearning for one another learning to embrace this new found warmth. I can feel his smile on my lips when he tells me in a whisper in between kisses that he doesn’t want to distract me. I wonder if he knows the first time he reached for my hand to hold that that moment laid frozen in a Polaroid magnet on the bottom right corner of my refrigerator. The texts he sent after our first date is written on a post-it note, stuck between the pages of my favorite novel, on the fourth shelf of my bookcase. A snapshot of his smile slips out of the medicine cabinet I keep my pills; a reminder of the artificial happiness that on some days is the only thing keeping me alive. I wonder if he knows I am lying when I tell him everything is okay. There is a glow in the dark star on the ceiling above my bed that captures the fragility of my heart. In the wrinkles of my bed sheets he tells me that my bedroom eyes are the most beautiful he has ever seen. The collective butterflies in our stomachs are scattered across my kitchen floor and when I close my eyes I can feel the warmth of his touch. I wonder if he knows I find mementos of us everywhere I go. They are sprinkled between the two hundreds miles it takes to reach him. I remind myself this is a dangerous game to play, but I play it anyway.”— This is not a love poem
