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Open Letter to Anyone Who Hasn’t Quite Fallen in Love Yet

writingsforwinter:

I hope you will love like weathervanes, spinning until you find True North in the middle of every storm; I hope you love like apocalypses, like the rain elopes with the ground.

I hope you will fall in love without mercy, without apologizing for the way love weakens your knees, fall in love without atonement, fall in love so deeply you won’t be able to tell the difference between your own skin and someone else’s. I hope you’ll fall in love in public, without being confined to only showing affection in private.

I hope you’ll fall in love with someone whose only crime is wanting to dust your entire body with their fingerprints like a suspect before being led into a jail cell, with someone who gives you not one chance, but all the chances you deserve. I hope you’ll fall in love with someone who makes your immune system pray for its own immune system just so it wouldn’t have to feel quite so lovesick.

I hope you will love like the moon: so full and wide that everything else seems small in comparison; I hope you love like wolves, hungry and snarling and howling for blood. I hope you love like witch’s brew, like a hurricane building in the southern-most corner of your tired, aching, beautiful body.

I hope you will fall in love feet-first, then follow up with the rest of your body, sliding slowly in until your heart comes to rest at some place it can finally call home. Home like a window without doors, home like a carousel where every stop contains another universe, home like a toothache in the gums.

I hope you’ll fall in love with someone who sobs tears that are more sugar than salt, so you’ll learn that love is supposed to be sweet and not bitter. I hope you’ll fall in love with someone who never wants to say anyone else’s name but yours. First, middle, last, and all. I hope you’ll fall in love with someone whose tongue is a sounding board for your echo, who kisses you like they think the wind is reflected in your sigh.

I hope you will love like tire tracks: fiercely and without stopping, with a trail to mark every new destination. I hope you will love like telephone wires spy on the conversations that cross their humming bodies, like forest fires and like moths sometimes burn themselves to death just to reach what they assume to be the saving sun.

I hope you will fall in love as many times as you need. I hope you will fall in love with the way your bones automatically align themselves to fit someone else’s spine, the way your wrist and elbow joints gradually curve to meet the parabolic shape of someone else’s body held inside your arms. I hope you fall in love with the way someone else can still love you with their back turned; I hope you fall in love the same way a car goes into reverse, with a brief moment of panic before the slow catch and release.

I hope you’ll fall in love with someone who would rather be alone with you than the alone kind of alone, with someone who won’t play toss with every volley of your heart, but instead catch and hold, hold, hold. With someone who whispers I love you like it’s a sin but enjoys every moment of potential hell, with someone who kisses the roof of your mouth like they’ll leave a secret inside the rafter of every tooth that will blow out when their mouth leaves a hurricane inside yours.

I hope you fall in love like there’s no other choice.

(via writingsforwinter)

" The sun is perfect and you woke this morning. You have enough language in your mouth to be understood. You have a name, and someone wants to call it. Five fingers on your hand and someone wants to hold it. If we just start there, every beautiful thing that has and will ever exist is possible. If we start there, everything, for a moment, is right in the world. "

- Warsan Shire  (via h-o-r-n-g-r-y)

(Source: jodyphamdraws, via coloredmondays)

(Source: owlsdustanddreams, via radiente)

"

You’re standing against a wall, holding onto a girl whose knees you’ve shot without touching. Holding, but not in the way you’ve ever known it. Hold like you’re drowning, hold like you’re buried, hold until your arms are trembling from the strength of it. She’s elastic against you, she’s all wilting and drooping and long long lashes hiding eyes painted black from wanting. She won’t look at you because she doesn’t know how to without spilling desire.

You’re both talking a language that neither of you can understand. But it sounds like ‘please’ or it sounds like ‘touch me everywhere.’ But this is more than your fingers or your mouth. This is the five seconds that it takes to peel her self-conscious away from her body. This is the five minutes of holding her hips between your hands and pressing your fingers into the stretch marks there and saying ‘you’re so fucking beautiful.’ This is really meaning it. This is thanking God for your hands and their ability to feel. You think maybe the dip of her sternum is forgiveness. This is how the soft of her against you makes your breath ragged. This is your chest heaving and sweat on your upper lip. The way you’ve forgotten the first name of every girl you’ve ever touched. The way her hair feels between your knuckles when you yank it. The noise she makes.

This is the hour that it takes for her to believe that you want her, skin and all. And when she believes you, you’ll know. Her defences will fall off her like water. She’ll shrug the sweater off her shoulders and that strip of bare skin will drive you so crazy that you’ll think about it for weeks later and it’ll make you hard again. You’ll text her saying that you’re thinking about her and your colleagues will ask why the freckles on your cheeks have connected to turn you bright red and you’ll mumble something about the sun. It’s not the sun. It’s the way she fell apart when you bit her neck and moaned honey into her throat. You’ll both be so brimming the ocean will rise jealous to see you. You’ll meet a girl and she’ll trust you and it will feel like undressing with all your clothes still on. It’ll feel like the raw of a wound and the relief of healing. She’ll put her throat in your open hands and close her eyes. This is what trust looks like.

Dip your fingers into her swollen mouth. Lean closer, breathe the words, you’ll fill her like this: ‘you are so beautiful and I’m going to put my hands everywhere.’

"

" I like cancelled plans. And empty bookstores. I like rainy days and thunderstorms. And quiet coffee shops. I like messy beds and over-worn pajamas. Most of all, I like the small joys that a simple life brings. "

- note to self  (via khadlja)

(Source: c0ntemplations, via coloredmondays)