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The first night we slept together, you cracked open my chest with your lips, thinking love would be inside. You tried to reach at my heart and massage the love out of it. But it wasn’t there. All my love for you was a fire in my stomach, a kind of nuclear fusion for the soul. This was a feast and I had come to dine on you.

But long before you ever wrapped your arms around me, we were deeply intertwined. When two celestial bodies orbit, they are constantly falling towards each other due to gravity. The only reason they avoid collision is because of their previous momentum always propelling them forward and away. I love that. We were always falling towards each other, for each other. And everything that we had ever been up to that point—every mask we wore, every scar that was handed to us, every human heart that had ever grazed us—gave us the momentum we needed to not collide, to stave off self-destruction.

We are born into this world with ravenous appetites. And it didn’t matter if we were naked or in a bookstore, I never stopped wanting to sink into you, to learn the map of your enigmatic mind, to explore the continents on your skin.


- (via typewriterdaily)

(via whatuplonz)