Why can’t people be really fucking spontaneous more often. Like why don’t people get on buses in the middle of the night to see someone or call them and say what they feel exactly how they feel it. It’s all fucking mundane shit, trying to keep your cool, playing hard to get, hinting and confusing signals ugh I hate it
“he’s not perfect;
but when we’re lying down
on our bed
and he fits my limbs
when he’s dragging his lips
on my neck
even in his sleep
i guess i’m allowed to boast
that he’s pretty
damn close”—(via ballerinhaz)
“Before I die, I want to be somebody’s favorite hiding place, the place they can put everything they know they need to survive, every secret, every solitude, every nervous prayer, and be absolutely certain I will keep it safe. I will keep it safe.”—Andrea Gibson (via surbeat)
your watch runs slower than it should, he said
(never been aligned quite right, you don’t say).
passport in hand, and they -
they won’t let you through security,
say the plane is already boarding and these things,
they’re fixed points, you know?
you tell the woman behind the counter
with the tired eyes, it’s been six weeks.
she doesn’t respond, puts you on stand-by
and you hope good things for her,
because she doesn’t ask why you missed your flight
(traffic, you say unnecessarily)
because excuses are ribbon-wrapped lies
and she grins like she knows.
twenty, foolish, and blind,
you fall a little bit in love with this stranger
who says I’m sorry, but really means: forgive yourself.
and you - you feel deoxygenated:
hold your breath each time a plane lifts off the runway,
hear the cabin pressure pop,
feel the turbulence rattle your bones
as these silly, human-made things
gain altitude like anchors leaving the ocean floor.
run, you wish you’d told him - you’ll get a little time more if you run,
because ten minutes
and twenty-four seconds
is enough to miss a flight.