We Roll Around On The Carpet Floor, Hugging Each Other Tightly, Pulling Each Other Ever Closer. We Try

calling your lover "my lover" is the most TENDER and SOFT and HOMOEROTIC thing you can call them and we should do that more often as a society

he sighs and whispers that he loves me.

every single wave in the river stopped to watch me blush and crashed again when he leaned in to kiss me. rippled once his lips met mine.

the deep blue reflects onto the sky, the mirror of my soul. I’m ready to drown in this moment. drown in him. our love washes over our names written in the sand

how you move me like the moon moves the waves. how you leave me breathless, like I’ve swam too far from the surface, lost in the blue of your eyes. how the riverbed of my heart crumbles when you touch me.

Beetlejuice (1988)

Hozier, ‘Cherry Wine’

[Text ID: “I’m all but washed In the tide of her breathing.”]

I love the fact that you need to lean on me, a boy says. 

He loved my vulnerability and how big I made him feel, 

But would get annoyed if I’d call him in the midst of another anxiety attack, 

Begging to know if he still loved me,

 if he still wanted me.

He called me his broken little thing. 

Wrote a play and in it I stabbed myself with a blade.

I would write him a suicide note thanking him for his bravery and his charm.

He finds me on the floor, cries over me and goes on to be a doctor, 

It’s only now that I realise he never loved me. 

He just loved the control.

“You once told me that the human eye is god’s loneliest creation. How so much of the world passes through the pupil and still it holds nothing. The eye, alone in its socket, doesn’t even know there’s another one, just like it, an inch away, just as hungry, as empty.”

— Ocean Vuong, On Earth We’re Briefly Gorgeous: A Novel

HUNTER SCHAFER for Givenchy at Paris Fashion Week 2019

when I tell you that you make me feel safe, it means something. I’m saying that you make me feel like a flower in a garden and I’ve spent my whole life feeling like a weed growing out of concrete. I’m saying that I love you so much that I’ll let you witness my wounds up close, under the harsh light. exposed, raw...but isn’t love being vulnerable in front of you and knowing that you still love me. you still love me. you still love me. wounds, flaws and all.

the gentle hand reaching out from the grave. the wandering ghost and the haunting of a life that wasn’t meant to be. a life spent with you.

you were so bad for me, the way you bent me over my own grave and called it love. moaning into that demon’s kiss as I rolled my eyes in ecstasy, ready to give into this little death. ready to die and haunt the corridors of each other’s lives. how sweet destructive romance tastes on our lips, how empty all this is.

we made a graveyard of this didn’t we, honey? dug up too many skeletons and wandered too far from home, feigning surprise when we got lost in the dark. walking amongst our own destruction, holding each other tightly.

rotten love. dirty, rotten love that was dead before it even started.

something so quiet about his kiss, so secretive. his mouth wide open, swallowing truths and honey and hushed moans. hands that render me silent to everything, weak at the knees and falling head first into something so soft. something that’ll break my fall. passionate love that is not loud or arrogant. a love that beckons me towards it with little more than a whisper.