they say that all air is recycled air;
that the oxygen I’m breathing right now could have been
the final breath that stuck in Kennedy’s throat,
or Marie Antoinette’s last sigh.
it’s comforting to know
that I am never really alone;
I’ll always have history rushing to my cells.
But it’s the middle of the night when I’m loneliest.
so I take a deep breath,
and wonder if the air in my lungs
still holds traces of you
(cause I’ll hold my breath forever to keep you with me)
My biggest issue is that I don’t know when to quit, I will love people until I have twisted myself into a new shape. I will love them brutal and careful and gentle and when it’s time to let them go I can’t remember how to unclench my fists from the back of their shirt so they have to break my fingers to get it to happen
Sometimes you meet someone, and it’s so clear that the two of you, on some level belong together. As lovers, or as friends, or as family, or as something entirely different. You just work, whether you understand one another or you’re in love or you’re partners in crime. You meet these people throughout your life, out of nowhere, under the strangest circumstances, and they help you feel alive. I don’t know if that makes me believe in coincidence, or fate, or sheer blind luck, but it definitely makes me believe in something.
Unknown (via sex-like-a-nympho)
(Source: wordsalawidder, via dysfunctional-lesbian)