“there are many times i feel like he has this innocent, untainted purity”
every time I see your face I wanna cover it in soft kisses and smother you with all of the warmest hugs in the world
i am a vegetable medley and god is sautéing me on medium high heat
if anyone wants me ill be in the dirt thinking abt love
Such a fundamental human thing, curling up: arms towards the chest, knees against your own loneliness. See, we know how to comfort ourselves
before we know what comfort
means. Living as
small alternations of touch, fleeting moments of contact, long stretches of nothing. Is it such a strange thing, then, to feel terrified by our vastness
and to want to fold into it? I wonder
if Heracles ever folded into himself, begged to feel smaller. I like to imagine this, lying on my back, harvesting from my chest what has not been burnt by the head. I feel bad
for the heart. It gets blamed for everything.
