I’m always soft for you, that’s the problem. You could come knocking on my door five years from now and I would open my arms wider and say ‘come here, it’s been too long, it felt like home with you.’
Sexy isn’t always about boobs or butts. It’s the way you walk, the way you talk, and the way you think.
Lust is Saturday night; love is Sunday morning.
The true mark of maturity is when somebody hurts you and you try to understand their situation instead of trying to hurt them back.
I am dreaming of new people now. Your hands have been replaced by better skin.
When I imagine the feeling of rising heartbeats beating through my chest, I do not imagine myself against you. You are no longer holding me against you.
I did not answer your call last night. It would not have helped anything.
I am so used to writing about the loss of you, this paper is screaming with promises of healing. Mine is an emptiness that tastes like acceptance.
When my breath catches, it is no longer on your fingers. The thought of you is drowning in this body. I can feel it sinking. Soon enough, you will be nothing but old poetry.
You are a
in a while,
do not drown