So it’s the summer of 1871, and Rimbaud meets Verlaine and he’s like, “Yo. I know about poetry.” And Verlaine’s like, “Yo. i know more about poetry.” And Rimbaud’s like, “That’s impossible. You wanna have an affair?” And Verlaine’s like, “…Yeah, that’s cool.”
I would like to have someone that I could look and call him
mine; someone that make me smile just when mentioned his name; someone that
make me laugh, and laugh about those stupid things that I usually say; someone
that have those lips that fit in mine, whose hands explore my body with passion;
someone that could be an intelligent talker, those nerdy talks; someone that I
bet things and stole kisses; someone that let me win on video games; someone
that I remembered during the bath and could call all the time; someone that
understand my moments of laughing and my moments of easy crying; someone that
hug me like it would be able to protect me from everything and everyone;
someone that admired sunshine’s as
much as I do; someone that make fun of every situation, but at the same time be
more serious than me; someone that I look in the eyes and suddenly feel lost,
but in the right direction; someone that I could share my deepest secrets and
accomplish my sordid whishes ; someone that would not be just in my dreams and
wake me up with a kiss on the forehead; someone that whispered dirty things on
my ear; someone that makes me feel butterflies on the stomach; someone to watch
movies together and throw popcorn on each other; someone that kiss me like
every kiss could be the last one. Someone that know, as much as I know, that
everything has an end, but our history would be our little infinity inside all
the happy memories. That in the future, I would look back and say, “I enjoyed every single minute, and
give me into all possibilities, it was what it has to be, lasted as much as it
has to last”.
You don’t understand how much I miss you. It’s fucking killing me. Fucking killing me. My heart aches for you, for us. How did I fuck up so bad? How did I destroy us this much? Every drink and every tear that follows is for you. I just, I don’t know. I can’t express what I feel. It’s crushing.
Boy I’ve tried to be real cute about this.
I tried to write a haiku about my love for you. I figured it could be a metaphor for how quiet I am when I’m thinking about telling you late at night. When we are on the phone and you aren’t saying anything and I’m not saying anything.. taking notice of our breaths and changing it up so we aren’t so loud in our headphones. When I am overthinking about saying it first and how crushed I’ll be if I don’t hear it back. The pit in my stomach if you say it back. I tried to be real cute and give you hints. But how do you hint at being madly in love? Should I leave clues by being mushy? Or maybe I should text you more than I usually do. Hold your hand tighter when I’m with you.. Should I stare into your eyes more often before we kiss?? Maybe touch you more gently when we cuddle.. How do I tell you? How do I let you know that I don’t breathe when we aren’t talking. I don’t sleep well if we haven’t spoken before bed, and in the morning when I first wake up. How do I tell you about the warmth in my heart when your name is mentioned by my mom for the thousandth time about how much she likes you? Or the quickened heart beat when you finally text back after three seconds? I’ve been trying to find the right way to tell you I’m in love with you. But the only way I can are through exaggerated sentences that you won’t see unless you’re on tumblr late at night.
Second day, second Dirndl. Met this guy there and he told me he wrote a book and then we found out that both of us have been to India and suddenly it felt so wrong to be there and spend money on beer. I had to leave immediately. Now I am home, and I am drunk and I am trying to figure out what I am going to do with my life. I want to leave positive footprints. ♡