My Favorite Form Of Intimacy Is The Secret Glance. You Know, The One When Your Lover Is Involved In Another

my favorite form of intimacy is the Secret Glance. you know, the one when your lover is involved in another task, yet you can’t help but stare at them. Or, alternatively, the one where you and your lover are in a crowded room full of people, and you hold each other’s gaze. I’m a sucker for those.

June mornings. The rush of the current at the lake where you kissed my cheek. Daisies dancing in a field. Trees that whisper to you as you pass them by. I think you are all of these things. Or all of these things are you. I never noticed them before, but I do now. I never cared much about my time on earth, but now that I’ve felt your lips brush against my skin, I never want to leave.

you tell me of your lonely days in high school. there is a deep sadness beyond your irises. I kiss your eyelids softly. I wish I had known you back then. I would have slipped my hand under the bathroom stall. You’d have never eaten your lunch alone.

“all dreams have meaning”

yeah well I spent ten hours dreaming about gay sex so what does that mean

I keep having this really particular feeling. It’s the most disorienting feeling I have ever accessed in myself. It happened when I was a kid whenever I contemplated the existence of god or tried to process how the world was made. things that are incomprehensible to the human brain, much too vast and complicated for us to cover in one lifetime. but this one is particularly odd, because it isn’t so much a feeling, but a memory. I am in the middle of doing something, and I get this weird sort of glitch within my mind. “Haven’t you been here before?” My inner self asks. I don’t have a definite answer for her. I want to say no, but I just witnessed this moment in my mind. I swear I have been here before, many times. Maybe I’ve never not been here.

I cannot bear to exist in a world where you are not present. I am not my own person. I am partly you. When you left, I did not lose myself. I knew that what was gone was not something that could be found again. You died, and I did too. When you haunt me, it is not only you that I am haunted by, but also myself. It was not enough that all that I am was taken from me. You insisted on following me around. You came back to earth just to whisper in my ear. I cannot bear it. I cannot bear to hear my voice. I cannot bear to hear the voice of all that is lost.