I don’t want sex, I want the things that lead up to it. The slow kissing then the passionate kissing, then the pulling closer, the neck kisses, the grabbing, biting, heavy breathing, grinding, the pauses while you catch your breath, feeling each other. Oh my.
I just want to be done with it all. Really. Just by myself somewhere quiet and peaceful and where nobody knows me.
I’d rather spill
than write about
It will burn less.
Lighting new cigarettes,
pouring more drinks.
It has been a beautiful fight.
Charles Bukowski, You Get So Alone at Times That it Just Makes Sense (via playingpianodrunk)