"I don’t hate penises I just think they look kinda gross but that doesn’t mean I’m never gonna suck a dick"
I am a difficult girl to hold hands with. It’s like there is something about them that makes them so hard to grab on to. So little people they’re willing to extend out to. So little people worth extending out to.
You see, holding hands is like painting a portrait or landscape. It’s a masterful work of art that so few can achieve with a single stroke of their paintbrush. Like how so few people can discern the incorrect fine tuning of a piano or guitar. It takes practice and time. But when it’s done right, when someone slides their hands effortlessly into yours, when it no longer feels like an awkward, inharmonious duet, or Mozart played off key—
There is a moment when you first realize the touch of another person’s hand resting loosely between your fingers and you feel as if you have gone deaf and lost sight of everything in view. The only sensation pulsating through you is touch, lighting you up as if you were standing amidst a billion fireflies under a summer night sky. That is perfection.
I have missed too many moments in life during that first touch. I miss that. I miss forgetting the world in the middle of the side walk because my mind has gone off to that place. I want nothing more than to be that kind of beautiful perfection with you.
AWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW OMG GUESS WHAT I JUST FOUND OUT WHILE WATCHING CHEMISTRY VIDEOS. MR BLOCH GREW UP IN HAMILTON. THAT’S SO CUTE, I’VE JUST FOUND A NEW LIKING FOR THIS CITY. S:KDJFOISUDIFOSLDKFOISJDF
I wonder if you’re ever amazed that I am yours. Well, yours so to speak. In a vague spiritual sense more than anything. Really, just knowing that I am and can be yours at any time of day, month, year, decade of your choosing. I wonder if you ever stop and marvel at that. How did that ever even happen?
God, I always thought it would be the opposite. What’s a girl like me doing chasing pavements like this. I don’t need this. If anything, I deserve someone who’d at least appreciate the laps I’d run for them. But not you.
Sometimes I wonder how things would have ended if I had been a little more of a blue whale and a little less of a little girl. Sometimes, I wish I wasn’t so shy and reticent and let you pin me against a wall and kiss you like I meant it. Sometimes I wish I knew what it felt like to just let go around you. But I guess I will never know.
Why are you so okay? Where do your emotions go? It’s like I was swept away by a hurricane and you somehow got away. I am lost at sea and you’re finding your way. My lungs feel like sand bags and you’re just learning how to fly.
I just. I just wish that we both drowned.