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revolution is an act of
24 and it’s a blindingly bright frigid december new england morning, but you’re so warm in the apartment and bed and arms of a girl who loves numbers and peanut m+ms and buffy and
(not you)
and whose thighs
vibrate
when she comes
this is something real, even if it’s not: the way she stroked down your index finger as you laughed over too-sweet cocktails and the buzz of finishing another week still alive, talk of terrifying bosses and the continued existence of the state of michigan and how the world is coming to an end and the best it’s ever been, and you stumble back to her place clutching each other against the wind and make out against her door and pull out the futon bed and, soon, bury your head between her legs and listen to her gasp
this is not a grand proclamation, a slate article on Being In Your Twenties At Ten AM In The New Millennium, this is only two breaths on one pillow with four legs twined together, this is the residual feeling of her mouth between your breasts and her hand behind your neck
this is not love
it feels like revolution all the same
<3
every time read this love it more, it really is just well penned
so well penned
Much Love
Ashley
This is amazing. It is one of
This is amazing. It is one of the best I have read in a long time on this site. It is also something I can relate to. I hope you post more in the coming days. Incredible job.
"It is a terrible thing to be so open. It is as if my heart put on a face and walked into the world" -- Sylvia Plath.