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She’s sensitive, too. Takes to hurt the way water takes to paper

Junot Díaz, This Is How You Lose Her

I will love you when the street lights turn off. Even when
you take a shower and track water everywhere, I will love
you. I will love you when you are low tide and I am the shore.
Even when you won’t touch me, I will ache for more. I will
love you even though you haven’t read a novel since 9th
grade and use mine as coasters. I’ll love you when you use
my good body wash as shampoo. If we wrestle, and this
time you let me lose, I will love you. When you try to fix the
TV, but you break it more, I will love you. I will still love you
when you do the same to me. Every day that I am thunder and
you strike me like lightning, I will follow the source of your
electricity to the ground and quiet myself to watch you glow.
Because no one is guaranteed this. As such, I will love you
hard. I will love you steady. I will love you. God, I will love you.

Mo Nyamweya, In which we are too much for each other (via moygay)

(via thatgracelady)

I miss you, you know, I miss your lips, your hands, your whole warm and strong body, and your face and your smiles, your voice. I miss you. But I like missing you so hard because it makes me feel strongly that you are not a dream, you are real, you are living, and I’ll meet you again.

Simone de Beauvoir, from a letter to Nelson Algren (via violentwavesofemotion)

Of course I’ll hurt you. Of course you’ll hurt me. Of course we will hurt each other. But this is the very condition of existence. To become spring, means accepting the risk of winter. To become presence, means accepting the risk of absence.

Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, The Little Prince (via quoted-books)

(via accidentalocean)

I want to know the depth of the forest between your shoulder blades and the rolling hills of strength between your lungs. I want your light, but I can handle your rain because I don’t expect you to always shine. I’ve made my bed in the shade that you’ve always called your shadows. The weather has never scared me and neither have you. I’ve tasted fog, felt the rays, I love both, and so I love you.

I’m gonna hope, and hope, and hope, until one day I do something; Maybe then, we’ll be able to find that place that we have both wanted for so long, maybe then, we’ll have each other. I’m not reaching for stars anymore, I’m reaching for you, and honestly, that’s far more beautiful than a night full of dancing flames.

T.B. LaBerge // Unwritten Letters to You