I want you. I want to throw you against a wall, wrap your legs around my waist and kiss you. Kiss you until we have to stop to catch our breaths. I want you and only you. I want to take you on road trips that lead us to pulling over on the side of the road because we can’t keep our hands off each other. I want you and your flaws. I want your messy makeup from teary eyes as I hold you and talk to you about life. I want the 3am phone calls because you can’t sleep at night. I want to be yours and only yours. I want to taste all your cooking, even if it’s not good, even if it’s experimenting I’d have you cook every meal for the rest of my life. I want you. I want my trembling hands to grab your waist and dance with you in the middle of an empty room. I want to struggle on days when I can’t see you. I want to fight about meaningless stuff that will lead to meaningful sex. I want you. I want your hand to rest on my forearm as we enter a party, so I can reassure you that you are safe with me. I want to sing to you and have you shut me up with kisses because we both know I’m no singer. I want the ups and downs, the winter and summer days. I want you and only you…
People now a days are way too fucking sensitive.
You can’t even cough anymore without having to write an official boohoo note.
She thinks I’m strong because I can push everything into the dark. But it leaves me empty. And the dark always finds me in my sleep.
You were better to the ones that were worse for you. And worse to the one that was better for you.
― Iain Thomas, I Wrote This For You (via larmoyante)
The one you love and the one who loves you are never, ever the same person.
― Chuck Palahniuk, Invisible Monsters (via larmoyante)