How long do you want to talk about fish sticks anyways?
There’s this girl.
The citrus light fell from the window and splashed onto her naked body.
I stared into her eyes through the reflection of a mirror as we brushed our teeth together for the first time.
I keep my toothbrush at her place as if she has the extra space.
My hands found their way around her waist beautifully. Naturally touching every freckle and following every curve.
I’ve made a terrible mistake.
No one wants to talk about fish sticks.
She rolled over, her body imprinting it’s shape into the mattress on the floor and her pretty teeth smiled back at me through parted lips I had kissed so softly the night before.
The same teeth, and the same lips that had said “i love you.” And I believed them.
The light from the window made it all too enticing.
I fumbled through the dark in my mind as I fumbled through her blankets searching for a feeling to attach with each motion I made.
Something wasn’t right. I’m so sorry. I moved too quickly. I got scared, embarrassed, nervous…I folded up my skinny love and put it into an envelope with her name on it. The time will come for it to be reopened.
It was all my fault, what does she think now?
Does she know I long to hide away under her sheets that are her favorite color?
Or how I want so badly to hold her naked body close to mine? Discovering every inch with my fingertips. Followed by a kiss—clinking freshly brushed teeth.
Just like that one time I ran that red light, and that one time I put the cd back in the wrong case, that one time I got a nosebleed, and that one time I brought up fish sticks. She was crushed. Disappointed. I looked up at her, smiled sheepishly, frantically searching for an explanation. Words not coming out of my mouth. She looked at me very confused.
Hell—I was confused too. Frozen in an eternally embarrassing moment she will never forget.
The word “fuck” doesn’t quite make the cut. I tried desperately, to cover up my insecurities, convincing myself they were gone forever, and I was invincible. Alas-I was not. Like I said, the word “fuck” doesn’t quite make the cut.
But what does that mean anyways? “fuck” a four letter word, with so much meaning behind it. Different for every participant.
For her—it’s a million different things, with an intimidating million different people, beautiful people of all shapes and colors.
For me—it’s that one time I fell madly in love with someone who wasn’t quite right for me…
And for the world—it’s a word used continuously when you stub your toe.
My toothbrush still resides in her bathroom.
She will find my hairs on her pillow.
She will wake up to a “good morning!” From me every day until she wishes no longer to hear it.
And currently we are are both perpetually haunted by the four letter word “fuck”.
The F word I chose to hate the most today.
Because of that one time I actually fucked up.
At least it’s not fish sticks.
Midtown intersection, NYC.
Watching the pace and flow of New York City from above is amazing. The constant stream of yellow taxis lining the avenues, the waves of pedestrians hurriedly crossing with the change of traffic signals, little figures disappearing into and emerging from the subway stations, the chorus of honking horns and sirens. It’s all so rhythmic and strangely soothing to watch.
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less pure after you’ve touched her
maybe you should take a look at your hands
I will never not reblog this
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