All I want is to play footsie under the breakfast table. I want droopy eyelids and sleepy laughter over the coffee cups and cereal bowls. I want messy hair and morning breath kisses and soft voices. I want toothbrushes touching and shared soap bars and brushing fingers as the towel is passed between our hands. i want shirts and bras and boxers and socks mixed in a hamper threatening to overflow by laundry day. i want soft sunlight dancing on dishwater and soap bubbles in the sink, the clink of glasses being placed on the high shelf, a pair of hips pushed against my back trying to reach the cabinet over my head. I want a hand in mine in the supermarket, holding conferences over produce. I want tickle fights in dining room, cuddle sessions in the living room, and nonsense conversations in the bedroom. i want pillows migrating to the wrong side of the bed and crumpled sheets and blanket wars in the night. i want chainsaw snoring and tangled limbs and warmth radiating between us resting heart to heart. I want love. Pure, simple, true. I want it with you.

"Give me the word, and I’ll give you a lifetime" by Hannah Estelle (via hidontbecreepy)

Daughter of the elements
Daughter of the rain
Daughter of the thunder
Daughter of the flame

Daughter of the dawn
And daughter of the light
Daughter of the stars
And daughter of the night

Daughter of the earth
And daughter of the trees
Daughter of the storms
And daughter of the breeze

Daughter of the moon
And daughter of the seas
Daughter of the winds
And daughter of the leaves.

daughter of the elements by lisa thiel (via cosmofilius)

secretlymisha:

i like how i’m not even remotely phased by anyone’s url anymore like oh look at this adorable kitten that satansbloodsacrifice reblogged from 1d-lives-inside-my-actual-vagina

Someday, someone is going to look at you with a light in their eyes you’ve never seen, they’ll look at you like you’re everything they’ve been looking for their entire lives. Wait for it.

(via black-cigar)

It is such sweet surrender, the relief

to unlace shoes caked in regret and indifference

and peel of shirts soaked in silence

to hang jackets and scarves that hold avoidance

on sturdy pegs

where the damp of the past

evaporates into a home that holds

teak wood floor mats and outdoor showers

where hands can find each other

in an effortless breeze

underneath clean linen sheets

I am not the first person you loved.
You are not the first person I looked at
with a mouthful of forevers. We
have both known loss like the sharp edges
of a knife. We have both lived with lips
more scar tissue than skin. Our love came
unannounced in the middle of the night.
Our love came when we’d given up
on asking love to come. I think
that has to be part
of its miracle.
This is how we heal.
I will kiss you like forgiveness. You
will hold me like I’m hope. Our arms
will bandage and we will press promises
between us like flowers in a book.
I will write sonnets to the salt of sweat
on your skin. I will write novels to the scar
of your nose. I will write a dictionary
of all the words I have used trying
to describe the way it feels to have finally,
finally found you.

And I will not be afraid
of your scars.

I know sometimes
it’s still hard to let me see you
in all your cracked perfection,
but please know:
whether it’s the days you burn
more brilliant than the sun
or the nights you collapse into my lap
your body broken into a thousand questions,
you are the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.
I will love you when you are a still day.
I will love you when you are a hurricane.

Clementine von Radics, “Mouthful of Forevers” (via oofpoetry)

What did I think about before you touched my thigh? Let me say this: I’m going to touch you until my fingers fall off. If my fingers don’t fall off, I will hold your hand even if it’s sweaty. And let me say this: You are lovelier than clouds that look like lovely things. I have only loved a few times and the last time was when you rubbed my neck under the monkey bars. We weren’t much younger than we are now. I still have the same haircut. You still have only one dimple. It’s on your left cheek and it looks like you fell on a pebble. I love that it looks like you fell on a pebble. Let me say this: You taste like candy canes. There was a candy cane tree in my old neighborhood. My neighbor hung candy canes on the branches of the willow and I snatched them in the middle of the night. It was December when I rode my bike the quickest, like I was going somewhere to meet you. I like you more than the candy cane tree. Let me say this: I am uncomfortable in my own skin, so I hold your face. I hold your face and your hips but mostly your face. You have a lovely face. Let me say this: I love you like monsters like scaring little kids. I make a list of words I can use to diagram your body: petite, mellifluous, comely, milk, necessary. Please, forgive the humming; you see I rarely taste candy canes in March. When I don’t taste you I taste sweat. Not good sweat, mind you, sweaty sweat from the men’s locker room. Sometimes I taste pizza, but that’s only because I loved pizza first. Let me say this: My love for pizza was fleeting. I was young and naive and thought that extra toppings meant something. These are fine days because they end with you. Let me just say this: I’m going to kiss you until my lips fall off. If my lips don’t fall off, I will kiss up your spine until I run out of spine. Then I’ll start over.

Gregory Sherl, “Notes on a Candy Tree” (via oofpoetry)