#yearning
You’re just like sunshine– always brightening up my day
I love that you know exactly what I want
I wanna cuddle you all day and never leave
I love being with you, even if we’re doing our own thing together
I love when you talk about your interests and how your eyes light up with delight
These are for all the single sapphics on this Valentine’s Day <3
Imagine those moments where you see her sitting on the couch in the living room, staring out the window as light from the late afternoon sun pours in, falling perfectly on her. She looks away from the window and looks at you, which makes the contemplative frown on her brow fade away and a loving smile grace her lips
Can’t wait for those days where we can just have a lie in and lay in bed, all cuddled up, a little longer than usual. When we get up we’ll drink our morning tea or coffee and slowly make our way through the morning, just the two of us with a companionable silence in the air. I want to spend those calm days with her, only her, with not a single worry on our minds, and a sort or peace in the atmosphere that comes with truly finding your home.
What’s the point of having a queen-sized bed if I don’t have a Queen to share it with
Mentally, I’m lying in bed on a rainy day with a girl in my arms, listening to the soft pitter patter of the rains drops tapping the window while we cuddle.
I saw a picture of her today and was rammed, totally pummelled, by the full extent my gayness
ever look at a piece of art and think of how a simple picture, painting, music, or book transcend time. For it to live through generations of generations, era after era, and yet, here it stays, alive and beating. as it captured the hearts of many before, now it beguiles us with the same intensity, even bringing us to tears, knowing that behind each stroke, note, and word is another person’s soul laid bare. gazing in the depths of the Art, we reconcile with the ghost of its creator, drifting and immortal. in a simple glimpse, we became a part of the undying
oh the inherent homoeroticism of blood-soaked bodies clinging to one another, the red honey dripping in excess, forming a path of ruin and murder. eyes seeking salvation, the other clouded with carnal affection. the head is thrown back, revealing the neck of smooth, Vestal skin, the knife in their hand’s dig deeper– harder. there exists no room for a fair hero and muse. in the consummation of the crime, lay the crimson limbs of a villain and their tortured lover
Last night I cried from how touch starved I am.
I just want someone to hold me. To envelop me. To trail their hands down my back. To be… Comforted. Just laying there, having someone soothe you with touches and know they care.
I hate those days. The ones where I suddenly realize my yearning all over again. I don’t need reminders of this lack.
i put up a bunch of photos of old paintings and museums next to my mirror so when i look at my outfit of the day being sweatpants and a hoodie i don’t feel completely terrible and still feel cultured
I haven’t gone to a thrift store or a coffee shop in so long I feel like I’m losing my pretentiousness oh god oh no
all bitches want is to be yearned for.
it’s me, i’m bitches.
romanticise your own existence.
When Emily Dickinson said “How dreary to be somebody”, and Daffodils said “It’s been raining inside my head again”, and Oscar Wilde said “Behind sorrow there is always sorrow”.
nobody asked but this is my face
