I Wish I Were A Girl Again, Half-savage And Hardy, And Free.

I wish I were a girl again, half-savage and hardy, and free.

Emily Brontë, Wuthering Heights (via theanglicist)

Picture this: Two girls sitting on a roof under the stars, With a bottle by their side, Taking turns to sip its content. Picture this: One of them leans closer, The other can feel her warmth And her heart beats faster. Picture this: Her head on the other’s shoulder, Listening to her fast heartbeat Waiting for her to say something. For once, Please say something. Picture this: She looks into her hard eyes And tries to find any emotion That may lie under her eyelashes Waiting to be found. Waiting, waiting, never fading. Picture this: She leans closer once more, Closer, closer, closer- She can feel her breath upon hers, Wonders if the waiting will ever end And she makes it end. Picture this: Their lips touch, gently, tenderly She’s too afraid she’ll pull away So she restrains herself. The truth: She wants to kiss her with a burning passion But she’s afraid she’ll melt. She wants to tear her apart But she’s afraid she won’t be able to put her back together again. The truth: The other girl is waiting to be torn apart, Waiting for someone to burn her to ashes And she wants her to do it again and again. Picture this: They’re both burning with desire And they let it drive them for a change. The roof and the stars are a blur in their minds And they no longer know where each other end: They are one, and one they shall be until the end.

l.c. (via patloclus)

look, i want to find the square root / of your thighs.

Salma Deera,  Letters From Medea (via lifeinpoetry)

“There are actual voices in my head that laugh whenever I try to do something.” // r.i.d

I don’t want love if it is not you.

L.W. // 9 word story (via somepiecesofmyheartandsoul)

She didn’t love him and he didn’t love her; she was like an addiction, and what they were doing had a darkness to it, a weight.

Kim Edwards, The Memory Keeper’s Daughter (via wordsnquotes)