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Kiss her. Slowly, take your time, there’s no place you’d rather be. Kiss her but not like you’re waiting for something else, like your hands beneath her shirt or her skirt or tangled up in her bra straps. Nothing like that. Kiss her like you’ve forgotten any other mouth that your mouth has ever touched. Kiss her with a curious childish delight. Laugh into her mouth, inhale her sighs. Kiss her until she moans. Kiss her with her face in your hands. Or your hands in her hair. Or pulling her closer at the waist. Kiss her like you want to take her dancing. Like you want to spin her into an open arena and watch her look at you like you’re the brightest thing she’s ever seen. Kiss her like she’s the brightest thing you’ve ever seen. Take your time. Kiss her like the first and only piece of chocolate you’re ever going to taste. Kiss her until she forgets how to count. Kiss her stupid. Kiss her silent. Come away, ask her what 2+2 is and listen to her say your name in answer.
Azra.T “this is how you keep her” (via fathomage)

(Source: 5000letters)

YOU’RE SIX YEARS OLD and your smile is too wide and your afraid of absolutely nothing and your family watches as you race around the yard with an energy that could fuel entire cities.

YOU’RE TEN YEARS OLD and the things that were once important to you become replaced with unnecessary possessions and you begin to wonder why you never looked like the girls on magazine covers and your mom tells you to not eat seconds unless you want to get fat because that is unacceptable.

YOU’RE FOURTEEN YEARS OLD and labels begin to mean everything and you throw yourself into things with a hope to shed a few pounds but still you stay the same and it drives you so crazy you turn to matches and blades and worst of all words that cut through your brain like silent killers in the dark hours of the night.

YOU’RE SIXTEEN YEARS OLD and made of skin and bone and the smile that once made up your face is gone for good and your body is littered in scars that won’t go away because every time you look in the mirror you hate yourself a little more and everything that you once loved now means nothing to you because you don’t have the energy to do it anyway.

YOU’RE SEVENTEEN YEARS OLD and your mom encourages you to take a bite but the sight of food makes you absolutely sick to the stomach you’ve been destroying since you started all this and suddenly she wishes that she had told you all those years ago how truly beautiful you really were and maybe if you had grown up without judgement you wouldn’t have wound up dead by your eighteenth birthday but you did.

Why the hell are we still doing this to ourselves // (a.e.m.g.)
If I told you that a flower bloomed in a dark room, would you trust it?

Kendrick Lamar

This line encapsulates the concept of a good kid in a bad city, and it cuts into one of the most moral questions in human existence: Can good come from evil? The best part about the line, as is true of the best poetry, is that it doesn’t answer the question it asks. For Kendrick’s immediate purposes, he’s the flower and the city is the dark room. The question is: Can you trust him?

(via neuksei)

(Source: navinkoke)

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