To be honest, I’ve been stressing for the past two or so weeks about our lack of communication and seeing eachother. I try so hard not to be like I was in the past, so I kept my mouth closed shut. Having you to be the one who says something about it has really made me feel better about the whole situation. I certainly don’t feel as much of a winey bitch.
This is yet another thing that I love about us, how mutual everything seems to be. It’s like we’re one of the small few people that find total balance in what we want and need, especially at this age.
I hate being gay and posting appreciation posts, but I am appreciative. I think I’m extremely lucky with a lot of things lately.
Everything’s always my fault, right? Wrong. You’re just too incapable of taking responsibility for your own actions and quite frankly, I’m over copping the raw end of it.
I love you to death but there’s only so much that I can take. I understand that you’ve reached a point of weakness, but you can’t keep pushing me down with you. I can’t go back to the darkness now that I’ve found the light.
I hear you pile lie after lie onto those around you as if it were your defense mechanism. You’re numbing out reality to make yourself feel better but you seem to forget that it’s not just you that is effected.
I’m tired of keeping my lips shut. I want to shake the living day lights out of you in hope to knock some sort of sense into you, but this just isn’t my battle to fight.
You need to grow up and learn how to come to terms with what you’re doing to yourself and everyone else around you. You’re hurting? Have a good, hard look around and tell me that we aren’t hurting too.
Ripening lips, ripening labia, ripening cock, ripening pupils, ripening state of being. Ripe and augmented and brimming. Your energy goes to your pumping heart, then to every external nerve, then to theirs, on fire.
You bask, roll, play in it. You sigh, moan, laugh.
It’s not about being “good in bed.”
It’s about being happy.
One should never worry if they’re doing it “correctly.” Sex is not factual. I don’t want your cookie-cutter sex, I don’t want your meticulously crafted, calculated, fool-proof fuck. I don’t want a show. I want you. Let your instincts, urges and whims define that. It’s enough.
What do most girls like? Forget about it. Statistics are meaningless when there’s only one. Hello, here’s me. Here’s you.
Don’t worry about taking it too slow. We got time. We got infinite rhythms, combinations, possibilities. Explore each fuck. Take our time. We can do a different one later.
Don’t worry about making me come. I’m here. Right where I want to be.
I am overwhelmed by wanting; you don’t have to convince me. I want you because I like you. So don’t put on a front. Don’t taint this.
I’m frustrated—it’s just authenticity I want.
Don’t say that something I like is ugly. Don’t compare yourself to the rest. You will live and die with and within your experiences like everyone else. If someone thinks you are amazing, they are not wrong. Their universe is as real as any other; it is forged through perception.
I don’t care if you accidentally slammed my head into the wall, if you slipped out, if my arm cracked, if the delightful pressure of your wet lips on my anything made a silly sound. There is no right way and no wrong way.
“Good in bed,” what.
You’re good in my bed. I’m pleased you’re there. I feel it suits you.
Shove your technique. Let your memory swallow it. Fuck me like you’d fuck me, fuck me like you feel.
For the past four or so days, I’ve been feeling down because only two of the people I consider important to me have checked to see if I’ve been okay. Only two of my best friends have called or texted me to express how much they miss me or that they’re worried about how sick I’ve become.
For the record, I haven’t been okay. I’ve felt like crying every single day. My body aches, my brain throbs, my heart pounds, my thoughts scatter and my fears have come to life. This sickness isn’t just making me wheezy, my nose blocked and my lungs tight, but it’s drained me to the core.
I haven’t gone out, but have had to work every single night despite having a fever, feeling light-headed and fighting back collapsing.
As much as I’ve been building up this anger, I’m disappointed in myself that I let it stand in between my friend-radar. Y’know, that little alarm that goes off in your head that tries to tell you something important.
This time, the important thing I speak of is regarding my best friend. The haze in my brain has distorted my usual concern and filled my soul with a sense of exhaustion.
I want to sleep, but I can’t numb out the worry. I can’t numb out the possibilities. Despite the fact that I’ve needed my friends to show that they give a fuck about me, it doesn’t change that I should still be doing so for them.
Being this sick is scaring the absolute bollix out of me. My head is throbbing, my body is trembling, my appetite is disintegrating, my hope is disappearing. I’ve had to cancel shifts at work, regardless of my current lack of money.
All signs point to negative. I want to sleep forever.
Seeing someone you used to be so close to, but don’t talk to anymore. You kind of just look at each other, and maybe say hi, or just walk away and pretend you never saw them. You act like you never even knew each other to begin with, like strangers.