I wonder what it’s like to kiss someone and not have to keep it a secret
to be able to leave comments on each other’s selfies making fun of all the thirsty comments and saying “but I’m the only one who gets to kiss you”
to hold hands in public sometimes
maybe kiss their forehead
or maybe just lean my head on their shoulder when we ride the subway
must be nice
stay up late with me and talk about the meaning of life and make out with me
I wish you had stayed.
Don’t look at me, I don’t like it (ink on paper) by me
I’m so sick of people thinking they can just waltz into my room when I’m obviously listening to music in 4/4.
I just wanted to reblog this again because I find it inordinately funny.
my mother said to me recently.
Why hold onto all that? And I said,
Where can I put it down?
Anne Carson, from “The Glass Essay” (via awritersruminations)
F. Scott Fitzgerald, Benediction (via chaosoftroubles)