“You’ll ache. And you’re going to love it. It will crush you. And you’re still going to love all of it. Doesn’t it sound lovely beyond belief?”—Ernest Hemingway, from The Garden Of Eden (via violentwavesofemotion)
Too many men look at me like I owe them something, like the word ‘beautiful’ should mean something to me just because that’s how they choose to describe me. Too many men think that the black heels I wear to the grocery store is my way of saying, “Look at my legs. Do you like the way my dress hugs my curves?” When the truth is I just got off work and need some fucking beer and bread. Don’t look at me like that, the only reason my lips are painted red is because I ran out of Chapstick and this was the only thing I could find in my car.
I once dated a man who said that for Valentine’s Day all he wanted was me in red lace. He said that I would taste like chocolate, that he wanted to show me just how good love can feel. He talked like his sex skills were the best gift he could give me. I wore black lace and showed him how it feels to be fucked harder than the night he lost his virginity to a stripper. He said I tasted like mystery and black coffee as he got down on his knees to find his boxers. He said he couldn’t find the taste of chocolate on my neck. That was the morning he realized that being a man had nothing to do with ‘how hard you can fuck’. If that was the case, I would be ten foot tall and bullet proof and one hell of a guy with nice boobs.
One time I fell into the arms of a drunk man who claimed that he loved me afterwards. He called me a bitch when I said I just wanted to be his friend. I told him if me giving him my friendship made me a bitch then me giving him my heart would make me a cunt from hell. That was the day I stopped kissing boys who had to prove that they were men and started holding hands with men who didn’t realize they turned heads when they walked by.
Love rests in the heart and is spilled from your throat.
Lust rests in your pants and prefers to not ask for a name.
One day those men will realize that sincere, kind words
are the way to a woman’s heart, not a good fucking.
One day those men will realize that their Adam’s apple
is the forbidden fruit,
not their dick.
”—when he asks what drawer you keep your lingerie in//d.a.h (via whisperingbones)
“Of course I’ll hurt you. Of course you’ll hurt me. Of course we will hurt each other. But this is the very condition of existence. To become spring, means accepting the risk of winter. To become presence, means accepting the risk of absence.”—The Little Prince (via takaota)
“I want a tattoo of the first morning we woke up together. I want the memory to hurt.”—Clementine von Radics, excerpt from Everything in Portland Is a Postcard Saying “Wish You Were Here!” (via larmoyante)
Because maybe relationships don’t have to fulfill everything for everybody. Maybe you are right in wanting less, and I am being overly demanding in wanting something serious. We are filled with these ideas that we are guaranteed some kind of romantic happiness, that the universe owes us a person who wants us in the way we want them, but maybe that’s ridiculous. We aren’t even guaranteed a tomorrow, and there isn’t much sense in denying ourselves the pleasures we could be experiencing because we imagine we’re being chaste for some reward which will never actually come.
So be mine, just for today. Don’t listen to the nagging voice at the back of your head which insists that every romantic gesture must be followed by an even more serious display of long-term care. We can enjoy each other’s company, even if that means two different things for each of us. We can pretend at the kind of love we might have had in another set of circumstances, treat each other with the velvet gloves that people who are more in love than us do. We both know how to do it, we’ve both done it before. There is nothing wrong with dressing the sex up with a bit of romance, even if we know it’s just a few props littering an otherwise-blank stage. It’s Valentine’s Day, and I’m willing to take my empty emotional calories. I want to eat the junk food imitation of real sentiment. And I want to do it with you.
“A boy and a girl can be friends, but at one point or another, they will fall for each other…Maybe temporarily, maybe at the wrong time, maybe too late, or maybe forever”—Dave Matthews (via ishallbealrightt)