A Conglomerate Affair

[g0th-bby-deactivated20151025]

Spooning? More like let’s see how much “accidental” booty wiggling it takes to get him hard.

[bahliss]

[5000letters]

You get a strange feeling when you lose someone you were intimate with. Kind of like you never want to be touched again. Or avoiding letting anyone else put their hands where theirs used to be. It becomes a strange process, letting the relationship die over and over again until you can stop hating anything that comes into contact with you that isn’t them. You resent the shower because all the hot water makes you feel like your body was never theirs. You quit masturbating because their fingers were the last inside of you and you want to keep it that way. You want your insides to become a relic of all the ways they loved you. So it becomes a funny process, you have to bury them and dig them up for every new old thing that you do without them. You kiss another person and think it’s the worst kind of betrayal. You’re angry at your mouth for enjoying it, you’re angry at your mouth for wanting more, and you’re angry at yourself for forgetting what their lips tasted like. That’s how it happens, you barely notice at first. It starts with tiny little things, you forget how they looked in the morning, you forget how their own brand of stubble felt between your thighs, you move on and it’s terrifying and it’s glorious but more than that, it’s freeing. Because you thought you’d never have that again, you’d never want someone so much that it felt like drowning and gasping for air was the most wonderful thing you’d ever done.So it’s okay, you can say ‘I am so scared that I will never love someone like I loved you’ when they leave, but it won’t be true. It won’t come close to true. Months from now you’ll be in a dark room with another person who turns your body into a lit match and there will be a litany of ‘fucks’ falling in procession from your mouth and they will be more a part of you than anyone has ever been and you’ll feel glorious and more than that, you’ll feel safe. And here is what you’re going to think: I had that moment with you and I am thankful for it. That is it.

Azra.T ”You have to dig up some skeletons before you can bury them” (via 5000letters)

[whisperbench-blog]

I'll look back on that night, walking through Santiago with my eyes wide and my heart open, and I'll know I was happy. There was nothing better than walking by your side, hearing you tell me all the little things about your town, of tragedy and history, so much magical realism eking out of the ground like a sweet poison for the mind. Of feeling the scar on your back from a terrible accident that left you bedridden for months. Of looking out over the lake, to the distant shore, where the figure of a man could be seen in the mountain's shape, crowned with the lights of Sololá and Panajachel. I'll look back on that night fondly, knowing that you shared so much of yourself without having read my letters yet. In that night we were the best of friends, and that was all there was, and the time passed like pages of a book in the wind, stretched like elastic later when we kissed.

[de-la-vida-a-mis-letras]

¿Cómo así llegamos a juntarnos? ¿Estaba planeado desde antes? ¿Fue acaso el destino? ¿Estaba escrito en algún libro divino? No lo sé, tampoco sé cómo llegué a quererte tanto y no sé por qué te quiero así, son tantas cosas en ti o quizás todo. Sí, me encantas toda, supongo que de eso trata el amor, quererte como eres y no querer cambiarte nada. Es que, es imposible no sentir amor por ti y querer contener tanto amor que aumenta y crece exponencialmente desde que te encontré. Un amor sin frenos, sin límites, sin miedos, sin temor a ser herido. Porque te juro que tenía pánico de mostrarte mi alma vuelto mierda y mi corazón agonizante; y aún así, sin importarte eso tomaste mis manos, cubriste mis fobias con tu sonrisa, abrazaste mis lamentos con tus ojos tan brillantes y decidiste no soltarme. Eso amor, eso y tantas cosas más, hicieron que te muestre mi mundo, abrir mi puerta apolillada y mis ventanas trizadas para que tus latidos retumben mis cimientos y vuelva a reaccionar mi corazón dañado y a llenarse de colores mi alma con grises y negros. Gracias a ti, el amor y la alegría las descubrí, las hallé, llegaron a mí, en ese instante en que llegaste para quedarte junto a mí.

—Volviendo a Sonreír, José Vergara (via fruta-y-menta)

[oofpoetry]

The petals of the vagina unfold like Christopher Columbus taking off his shoes. Is there anything more beautiful than the bow of a ship touching a new world?

Richard Brautigan, “Discovery” (via oofpoetry)

[oofpoetry]

And I can’t help but to run my fingers down your spine like you are my favorite book. But I still cannot read you, you are your own language. Your pages are tired and torn, but I want you, I want it all.

Michelle K., “Like a Book” (via oofpoetry)

[chasingtrophywhitetails-deactiv]

I need a make out session so intense that I forget all my problems and possibly my name.

[5000letters]

I’m so demanding like I don’t want just love, I want an all consuming physical and spiritual movement that shakes you all the way from your toes to your ribs. I want you to be consumed and desperate and needy and I want you to want me at whatever time at night and I want you to text me when that...

[whisperbench-blog]

Listening to this Lone Ranger soundtrack rn and if there's a song in here that ends up being the one I've been looking for, Car is 100% gettin booty when I get back to the US

[sexpectinq]

[whisperbench-blog]

I’m still trying really hard to get over forgetting / not knowing about his birthday until today. I feel really strongly that that’s something I should’ve known, should’ve found out beforehand, that it should’ve come up before today looking for his stupid nawal. The feeling that I should’ve been more, done more. The stronger feeling that I need to get away from this, from him. I don’t want to feel this way. I don’t want to get this upset over him, over something that I don’t understand. I can’t tell his tone on facebook messenger. I have no idea if he’s happy, or mad, or sad, or frustrated, or frustrated with me, or mad at me, and I can’t really deal with that. I desperately would like to talk to him, but much in the same way as with these guatemalans, I’m talking, but I’m not communicating. I can’t give up on them, because they’re right here, but I could give up on him. I could let it go, let this go, get some normalcy back in my life, I could like someone fleetingly, shallowly, a hummingbird flitting from tree to tree, flower to flower, constantly moving to the next one. Not feel guilty or upset over things I can’t control. Over someone I can’t control.  Someone I don’t understand, who I fear doesn’t know himself or like himself enough to look at me and find anything he wants. I fear (and fearing frustrates me) that he isn’t happy with himself, and he’s not at all ready to add me to his life. And that’s okay. That’s okay. But I can’t, I don’t have the heart that will wait to throw myself into someone, this summer apart is fit to drive me mad, and for what? to find that the thing we put in the fire to strengthen it, has burned to ash? To return at the end of the summer to see someone who doesn’t give a shit? He’s so hard to read, because he doesn’t talk. He could literally be thinking anything. I have to get away. I have to stop thinking about him, I have to stop talking to him, because I’ll never get anything out of him this way. He won’t talk to me from this far away. If it’s worth it, I’ll have to wait for those intimate, infinitely distant moments, that darkness in the car, of driving to somewhere and nowhere and blasting ed sheeran and singing like he isn’t there, of getting in the car and jumping on 440, taking him with me, staring straight ahead and letting the darkness hold us, create a bubble around us, so we can pretend we’re alone, and be honest with ourselves and say the things we can’t type, the things we can’t whisper through cans on a line. I won’t look at him, and he won’t look at me, but in that metal box flying down the highway at 70MPH, we’ll be together again. 

[whisperbench-blog]

Why should I let him bother me? I don't need this, don't need him to tell me he has things to mull over. I'll be here all summer bud. Take all the fucking time you need. 

[violentwavesofemotion-deactivat]

I think once you’ve thought about how a person sleeps, how they’d feel pressed up against your back, or your head on their chest, how compatible your bodies would be in the same space of a bed — once you’ve thought about that, you’re fucked.

(via fuckinq)

[hollow-boxies-blog]

From imgfave.com

[sculpturedbodies]

[whisperbench-blog]

What is it inside us that makes us yearn for a warm embrace? A quiet craving that we often deny, but all the same, it remains