I want you. I want to throw you against a wall, wrap your legs around my waist and kiss you. Kiss you until we have to stop to catch our breaths. I want you and only you. I want to take you on road trips that lead us to pulling over on the side of the road because we can’t keep our hands off each other. I want you and your flaws. I want your messy makeup from teary eyes as I hold you and talk to you about life. I want the 3am phone calls because you can’t sleep at night. I want to be yours and only yours. I want to taste all your cooking, even if it’s not good, even if it’s experimenting I’d have you cook every meal for the rest of my life. I want you. I want my trembling hands to grab your waist and dance with you in the middle of an empty room. I want to struggle on days when I can’t see you. I want to fight about meaningless stuff that will lead to meaningful sex. I want you. I want your hand to rest on my forearm as we enter a party, so I can reassure you that you are safe with me. I want to sing to you in the shower and have you shut me up with kisses because we both know I’m no singer. I want the ups and downs, the winter and summer days. I want you and only you…
what I’m too afraid to say (via h0pefulkid-withaninkedupheart)

You’ll fall for her. You’ll fall for her and all her different ways and maybe all the ways that even remind you of me. You’ll fall for her and it will be just that simple. You always told me you loved simple.
It will not be an ocean of waves or a roller coaster of upside down loops and turns.
It will be easy.
You won’t have to drop what you’re doing to take care of her at 3 am when she needs it because her life is falling apart,
You won’t have to watch her kill her sadness through the result of a line or two or ten,
Or a bottle of tequila or vodka because she has some issues in her own seperate life.
You won’t have to drop what you’re doing to throw her in the shower on a bad comedown,
You won’t have to silently curse at her while you stare and ask yourself why.
You won’t have to look at her tired, empty eyes and say “I love you to fucking pieces, don’t do this to us anymore baby.”
You won’t have to.
She won’t be a burden or a mess or someone that you’ll need to worry for or look after at times. She won’t make it so that she physically will need you.
She will do it herself while you watch.
(Do I need you?)
She won’t yell at you saying she wants you when you try to walk away. She will watch you go because she knows you will come back.
She won’t lay there broken on your chest vulnerable to the world after only
a month of knowing her.
(Is that why this is so hard for me?)
She will be better. Simple and better.
She will be simple because she won’t love the fact that you guys both have issues to relate to like I did.
(Is that why me and you got along?)
Because she won’t. She will be better.
She won’t quite understand what you mean when you say your dad is on the verge of disappearing.
She won’t quite understand yet but that’s okay.
(Well, she wasn’t around to see it.)
That’s okay all the same. It’s okay because she will be better. She won’t be intoxicating and toxic at the same time,
she will only be simple and loveable and fixed without you. She will show you that a night under the stars with romantic candles and nice words is better than fighting until your lungs burst and having make up sex afterwards with raging passion. She will show you that some love out there is simple; and I guess that is where we are different.
Fighting three times a week until we felt insane out of our mind wanting to strangle each other, chasing each other through traffic because leaving didn’t feel like a bearable option, punching walls and kissing each other so aggressively out of apology was my kind of love. It meant we couldn’t bear to see a world without each other in it.
(Why did that have to change?)
Your kind of love; is
So this is what I hope for you now.
I hope she gives you pretty words instead of make up sex, I hope she doesn’t give you complicated. I hope she hasn’t learned love from all the wrong people. (You won’t have to teach her like you taught me, right?)
She will already know. I hope she gives you romantic words on a rainy afternoon, and not broken down words like “I feel like dying, please don’t go.”
Because at the end of the day,
who needs that?
(Who needs me?)
I hope you get simple, and not a fiery up and down roller coaster of love and hate. Even if it was the right kind of love for me, I understand it was the wrong kind of love for you.
(Maybe I’m too fucked up for anyone to love.)
But I do want to say this;
thank you.
(Is that simple enough?)
Thank you for being there. Thank you for being there while I tried to glue back together the pieces of my past, and thank you for being the glue.
(You were a damn good glue.)
Maybe, just maybe she will already have the pieces together, and you won’t have to be a damn thing other than simply in love.
But please, when looking back on your book, don’t forget to remember the broken worded chapters and the ripped pages.
(Would you glue them back together for me?)
and please,

Don’t forget our little piece of messy love. Because sometimes, just sometimes,
it’s the best damn kind.

Things I never said (via primiitive)