If were not busy being born, were busy dying.
Let’s kiss for a few hours. You and I. I don’t mind where or when or even if you’ll call me after because I know you will. Hands on your face, mouths like honey, let’s kiss until the spaces between us are swollen with it. I want to know what the dip of your breath is like when you’re happy. And how your face feels when I’m holding it. More, when you’re excited. Mostly, your palms. Or the tangle of my hair in your fingers. I want to kiss you for days, or what feels like days but is only hours. Or, you know, days that are days. We can pause for food and water but not breaths. We can pause to say “hey, I like the way you feel when you’re soft beneath me” or “listen, it’s still not enough with you, I’m worried it never might be” and start all over again.
-Azra.T ”The Spaces Between”  (via sweve)

So so sad

I wanted so badly to lie down next to her on the couch, to wrap my arms around her and sleep. Not fuck, like in those movies. Not even have sex. Just sleep together in the most innocent sense of the phrase. But I lacked the courage and she had a boyfriend and I was gawky and she was gorgeous and I was hopelessly boring and she was endlessly fascinating. So I walked back to my room and collapsed on the bottom bunk, thinking that if people were rain, I was drizzle and she was hurricane.
-J.Green (via chain-of-lace)