You kiss me in my dreams and my skin gets tight. You steal my heart right out of my mouth and I let you. I wake up sore and tired and spend my day groggily searching for the words to tell you that I’d have you in any way if you’d let me. I’ve never met you, but I’d kiss you in dark alleys and hold your hand in crowded subway cars and roll on top of you in the morning and let you hold me down at night, if you’d let me. I’d suffer a few thousand miles just to wake up every morning and know you are mine.
You kiss me in my dreams and I am a pulled canvas, waiting for you to come and touch me for the first time and paint every inch of my skin with what it means to be loved by you.”
Kristen Fiore // Art School Love Songs
#reblogging old feelings
All you ever wanted to do was love me. And all I ever did was shut you out and push you away. I was vicious. I was critical. I didn’t treat you like a human being. Something about you made me hungry to test your limits — to see how hard and far I could push you before you broke.
Why wasn’t I more compassionate? Why couldn’t I see that you were wounded and starved for tenderness? Why was I so unwilling to be the one to give it to you?
I hurt you — repeatedly — in the same way that people I’d once loved, or had once tried to love, hurt me.
All this time, I acted so self-righteous — as if *I* were the one with the capacity for deep, unbridled, unshakable love; as if everyone *else* were shut down and closed off.
All this time, I’d been focusing my energy and attention on people who ultimately didn’t give a fuck about me, when there you were — eager to be at my side. You would have given me anything. How could I have been so blind?
We’re so alike. …Impulsive. Reactive. Huge personalities masking huge insecurities/fragile egos. More fire/passion than either of us know what to do with. An all-consuming desire to feel, or alternately, to numb out our almost intolerably-deep feelings. A penchant for self-destruction. A need/desire to love and be loved in equal measure. A dark side. A light side, seeking to heal and be healed.
I know that we have a history of getting crazy around each other. I know that I acted totally fucking insane. I know that I showed you the ugliest parts of my personality. I know you think that you can’t trust anything I say — that I’m manipulative, combative, and melodramatic. I know that we don’t always understand each other. But I swear — I don’t want to fight with you anymore.
I have never wanted anyone, physically, as much as I want you. Our bodies were made for each other. You ignite me from the inside-out, and I do the same to you. You can’t fucking deny it. And I still fucking want you — all the goddamn time.
Honest to God — I just miss your laugh. I miss your smell. I miss your kiss. I miss the way you’d wrap me up in your huge, warm arms. I miss you, you fucking jerk.
Do you remember when you first met me? You thought I was a total sweetheart. I still am — that girl is still in there.
In the same breath, I’m also a ruthless bitch.
That’s because — like you — I’m a fucking person.
I’m kind and cruel. I’m your Madonna and your whore. Tender and impossible. I will satisfy your darkest, most depraved appetites, and then wake up and make you breakfast in the morning. I will kiss you in the pitch-dark. I will kiss you in the kitchen sunlight. Just let me kiss you again. Please.