I don’t do intimacy

I don’t get how people like to be intimate. It’s like opening your legs for a random stranger. He could be a rapist, a sadist, or a gynecologist. On the off-chance he’s a decent guy, he might also suck at sex.

"Ấy à …"

Recap

In light of our not-so-recent separation, I want to do a recap of you.

1. The tiny, fluorescent room compressed into itself as I struggled to find air. Life felt stifling as it weighed leaden upon my lungs and my eyelids.

The urge to scream bubbled beneath the gag of awareness. I was aware that my parents were one floor down, blissfully unaware, and should remain so lest all pretenses shattered to the floor.

Number “6” stared at me smugly from the scratch-covered phone screen. It knew I could not help pressing “Call”, and I did not disappoint.

Beep, beep. Beep, beep.

I fixated myself on the chorus of machine-generated sounds. And thus, your voice penetrated the haze like a pleasant surprise.

"Hey," your ridiculously phone-genic voice floated into my ears.

Silence.

"Hey? Are you fine?"

"You’re so warm, even your voice is warm," I mused.

And the dam exploded.

I spilled every single detail to you in rapid succession, and your “It’s fine” was enough.

I wrote this for you

Somehow, you’re leaving on Wednesday, and I still can’t believe it. It doesn’t seem like we’ve got enough time just yet, but it’s probably never gonna be enough.

I hope you still know that I’ll be there for you, 1 in the morning or 1 in the afternoon.

I’m not gonna say farewell, because it’s  not a farewell.

It’s me, writing a few words for you, who’s gonna take a long vacation somewhere out there, doing something she has to and something she should like.

I love you, simple as that.

I love you.

I love you…

For you…

You light…

the skies up above me…
A star so bright,
you blind me…

Maybe I’m just that much of a loner after all.

Physically and mentally, I’m configured for solitude.

I prefer having the bed to myself. I don’t mind not having anyone to share the blanket.

I have sweaty hands that put me off holding people’s.

Configured.

I like that word.

Travis and Andie

Travis was surrounded.

Brown hair completely obscured his vision. Hot breath on his face. Pained sobs in his ears. His arms immobile as they were pressed forcibly into the mattress in a bruising, finger-interlocking grip. His upper body held in place as soft feminine flesh pushed against him urgently. He could easily throw off this surrounder, if only …

Twin drops of water made contact with his cheeks, and he couldn’t pull away – wouldn’t pull away.
The tiny droplets scorched their ways down the slight hollow of his cheeks, before making a free fall for the pillow under his head.
And more kept coming.
Without his vision, all that he could feel was her hair, her breath, her skin, her sobs and her tears. Her tears.
Travis felt himself engulfed, no, drowned in her grief.
And he was helpless to do anything, apart from gripping her hands back reassuringly, which seemed to go unnoticed as her movements became more frantic. Her sobs took on a deeply wounded quality, and her body strung tight before she finally came in a long exhale of air.

And Travis couldn’t have come if he’d wanted to. In all of his years as a womanizer, bordering on a manwhore, he had never felt such an overwhelming need not to come.He couldn’t do that to her.

When she finally sagged into an unmoving heap onto his chest, save for the occasional wrack from her soft sobs, he moved to cup her face. She moved out of his grasp, however, and buried her face into his chest instead. And another flood of tears came. The feel of her wet eyelashes on his hypersensitive skin proved his undoing.

“Let me in. Let me help.”

He gently turned her onto her back, and ignoring her halfhearted attempt to dodge his touch, smoothed her tear-soaked hair out of her face. His blue eyes held her dull gaze. It felt like forever before he moved in, another forever before her eyelashes graced his lips, and another, before they finally closed in consent. Only then did he dare close the tiny distance and seal his lips over her eyelid.

“I can taste your tears. I feel you.”

The dam broke, and she burst open at the seams. Trembling hands and teary face pulled him in for a kiss, for the first time since she walked into the room.

He forgot to breathe, drowned in her desperation, and the need for air did not register in his muddled brain until her mouth reluctantly left his. Her lips came to settle on the corner of his, her breath danced slightly on his face, and her eyelashes fluttered on his cheek.

“I just needed to know what was so good about sex with a man.” she signed the words into his skin.

“That?”

“…That a woman would want to be stamped on a piece of paper as having it.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“For what?”

“For everything within you that still feels and can still be broken.”

“Why?”

“Because it will keep breaking and aching and fuck it if the fact that you can still break doesn’t make you beautiful.”

She let out a harsh laugh and smiled up at him through a curtain of hair.

“And does this beauty that I cannot see mean a thing to my still breaking and hurting?”

“But it means everything. Where’s the life in not feeling? You’re pained because you’realive.”

“What if I keep breaking and breaking until the pieces are so microscopic they don’t break anymore?”

“Then build yourself back up again – mold yourself into something new and start over. Microscopic pieces are so much easier to ply, don’t you think?”

“Can I? What if I can’t find a mold?”

“Of course you can’t find it. Every single one of them is already taken.”

“But molds are used and then discarded, aren’t they?” she asked with a teasing grin.

“These are for one-time use.” he signed exasperatedly.

“Tsk. Tsk. Where’s the “save the environment” spirit?”

“Somewhere near the bottom of the mold-cemetary.”

“Aww, your environmentalist girlfriends would be crushed.”

“Correction, “fuck buddies”. And it’s my spirit that should feel crushed. You ruthless people keep dumping tons of molds upon its cold, dead body.”

“Technically, if it were dead, it would be feeling no pain.”

“What is it with you and technicalities? Make your own mold, lazy ass. End of argument.”

“How climatic an ending you made, my dear gentlemen,” she mockingly blinked up at him.

“Errr, in case you haven’t noticed, my precious little Travis is still up there in that squishy errr whatever-you-want-to-call-it of yours. So either you continue to mock me, or I make this ending much more climatic to suit your taste.”

“You’ll need to read up on “Kamasutra for the Elderlies” to do that. You were such a cold fish I could have sworn you were afraid your joints would hurt.”

“Right,” he huffed. “Andie? Will you manage?”

“I’ll do more than manage, believe me.” She hugged him close and placed tender kisses all over his face before sealing her lips over his eyelid in a whisper.

“Thank you. I can feel you too, you know?”

He tightened his embrace, and laughed slightly, “For your information, I can feel you too, especially your boobs.”

“But seriously, though, go out there and find whatever it takes to make your own mold.”

“I will.” Andie moved to put on her clothes hurriedly, and pecked him goodbye.

“I’ll be fine. No, estatic. Pun intended. Just watch.”

The door slammed shut behind her bouncing steps, and Travis had never felt so utterly spent and sated in his life.

but i am.

maybe i always will.

I can’t love you anymore.

Ngày tưởng niệm

Tim, lỡ một nhịp.

Một hơi thở, kẹt lại trong cuống phổi, bỏng rát.

Trung…

People give up on each other, because sometimes it’s too hard to fight.

Why can’t rappers rap about nice things?

l0vedarlene:

bexbex:

chasingmaryjane:

ksteez:

  • YEAH GIRL I’MMA TAKE YOUR CLOTHES OFF AND
  • put them in a closet for you cause it’s polite
  • YEAH BABY THAT’S RIGHT IMMA PICK YOU UP AND
  • carry you to your bed cause baby I know you tired
  • OH GIRL IMA SLAP DAT
  • broom out of your hand because you’ve had a long day at work, and i can do it myself. 
  • BABY LET ME BLOW YOUR
  • food so it won’t be too hot.

HAHAHAHA

(via haily-rangdai)

Love is

Love is the few tears you let damp your pillows in the security of the long dreary nights.

Love is the quiet sigh you let tug on your heartstrings in the solitude of a lonely morning.

Love is the heart that you bleed, and not the person it bleeds for.

Love is pain.

The person is loss.