Todd watched Neil, his face soft and his eyes closed, asleep, peaceful, lovely. He reached down and brushed Neil’s hair out of his face. Neil shifted closer. Todd wondered how it was possible to love one person so much, but here he was.
It was late in the evening, most of the students had already retired. Neil had been working on some extra homework while Todd had sat on his bed, reading. At some point Neil had finished up and had climbed next to Todd. He’d looked tired but hesitant but Todd had been dating him long enough to know exactly what he wanted. Neil hadn’t grown up in an environment where he could seek comfort (though admittedly, neither had Todd (but Todd had Neil constantly proving that he could ask for what he wanted even before they’d started dating and that had made a world of difference)). Sometimes he’d want Todd but wouldn’t know how to phrase it. Todd had learned to pick up the cues. So he moved his book back and held his arms out and Neil didn’t hesitate further, simply sank into his embrace. It didn’t take him long to fall asleep, he head resting on Todd’s chest, Todd’s hand playing with his hair.
Neil and Todd hadn’t exchanged ‘I love you’s yet. They were always there, at the tip of Todd’s tongue. Sometimes when Neil looked at him, Todd thought they might be there, too, at the tip of Neil’s tongue. Todd knew he loved him, had known for a while. But they hadn’t been dating long so he held those words back. He didn’t think he’d hold out much longer, though, not when Neil was so lovable, so breathtakingly beautiful and sweet, so easy to want, so perfectly fit in his arms. Todd loved him so much he didn’t know what to do with himself half of the time.
Neil shifted again and Todd leaned down to press a kiss at the edge of his eyebrow.
'I love you’.
BREAKING: Dracula has fallen down the stairs at the met gala
“imagine caring so much about fiction” imagine being so lame that you scoff at the timeless human practice of falling in love with art and stories
rowan whitethorn with a sword is so sexy
I think of her alot,my younger self,what if she meets me someday or i meet her someday or someone like her or someone like me,
I barely have cool things to tell her about how I've been,
Maybe she'd know how to be me,
Maybe she'll sit quiet and listen to me,
Or maybe she'll crack a joke here and there and laugh with me,
She'd be so small,
I could pick her up,
She'll probably ask me alot of questions,
All the things that she couldn't but i can do now,
She'll be content to hear me out
Maybe I'll meet my older self someday,
Maybe she won't say much,
But she'll tell me things that are going on in her life,
Maybe I'll sit quiet and listen to her,
Maybe I'll crack a joke here and there to comfort her,
Maybe she'd be the same as me ,
I'll ask her alot of questions,
All the things i can't do but she can,
I'll be content and hear her out.
-tamanna
the polarising feeling of going to the shop and seeing everyone in their lives and knowing you’re completely alone
— Nizar Qabbani
in case anyone else needs to hear this it’s ok to be more serious. i don’t just mean ‘it’s ok to be serious sometimes’ i mean in general. not everyone has to be funny. it doesn’t have to mean you’re sad or unlikeable. you can just be serious and genuine most of the time and that’s great. i personally think that we’re too focused on ‘funny’ as the primary carrier of likeability right now. i often feel starved for serious conversation, for serious spaces, for a feeling of gravity. you don’t have make good jokes to give people a good time. i say, goof only as the spirit moves you, & don’t worry about it.
Girls don't need love they need the trilogy in cardan's pov
No it's not that I don't appreciate the flirting, I just wish you wouldn't do it while I'm in the middle of vivisecting you. Yes I know that it's really hot when I'm covered in your blood elbow deep in your chest cavity that's why I keep vivisecting you. But I keep getting flustered and dropping your liver and its really slippery so I keep dropping it over and over again leading to very comedic slapstick comedy where I slip on your blood and fall over really funny
I lost my best friend 3 years ago- not lost as in dead but lost as in we only text each other on our birthdays now. Movies and books don't tell you that a friendship dying is like the sinking of a ship, you try to get higher and higher and hold onto the rails and unanswered texts, the captain tries to steer it to safety and salvage pieces of two broken hearts until you're left with memories of what once was. We were friends for a decade and knew each other's diaries by heart, I still remember her phone number and the way she took her coffee. Seeing her in streets is like breathing in a scent you forgot you knew but it immediately takes you back to a summer in '07.
Movies and books also don't tell you that friendships don't just end after one fight or incident, it's like the rusting of a bridge, the slow decay of flesh and bones and secrets. It took weeks, months- until one day I woke up and I realized I hadn't thought of her in a while. And I wrote a poem that day and I titled it 'The dying of a best friend' and I put all my love for her in a tiny box with my half of the matching pendant of a dolphin we had and stored them in a corner of my heart under the heading Grief. Where else can one hide unspent love?
It's been 3 years since I lost my best friend, lost as in I still carry our secrets in a tiny box but we only text each other on our birthdays.
-Ritika Jyala, excerpt from The world is a sphere of ice and our hands are made of fire
Edit: here's the visualizer for this piece