I Find It So Beautiful That We All Read The Same Poetry And Miss Different People. 

You're just a mammal. Let yourself act like it. Your brain needs enrichment. Your body needs rest. You feel hunger and grow hair. You need to pack bond with other sentient things so you don't become unsocialized and neurotic. You are biologically inclined to seek dopamine and become sick when chronically stressed. "Hedonism" is made up to place moral value on taking pleasure in sensory experiences. I am telling you that if you don't let yourself be a fucking mammal, as you were made, you will suffer and go insane. No grindset no diets no trying to be above your drive for connection. Pursue what makes you feel good and practice radial rejection of the constructs meant to turn you into a machine. You're a mammal.

its 3am

Poetry doesn't have to rhyme, it just has to touch someone where your hands couldn't.

Todd watched Neil, his face soft and his eyes closed, asleep, peaceful, lovely. He reached down and brushed Neil’s hair out of his face. Neil shifted closer. Todd wondered how it was possible to love one person so much, but here he was.

It was late in the evening, most of the students had already retired. Neil had been working on some extra homework while Todd had sat on his bed, reading. At some point Neil had finished up and had climbed next to Todd. He’d looked tired but hesitant but Todd had been dating him long enough to know exactly what he wanted. Neil hadn’t grown up in an environment where he could seek comfort (though admittedly, neither had Todd (but Todd had Neil constantly proving that he could ask for what he wanted even before they’d started dating and that had made a world of difference)). Sometimes he’d want Todd but wouldn’t know how to phrase it. Todd had learned to pick up the cues. So he moved his book back and held his arms out and Neil didn’t hesitate further, simply sank into his embrace. It didn’t take him long to fall asleep, he head resting on Todd’s chest, Todd’s hand playing with his hair.

Neil and Todd hadn’t exchanged ‘I love you’s yet. They were always there, at the tip of Todd’s tongue. Sometimes when Neil looked at him, Todd thought they might be there, too, at the tip of Neil’s tongue. Todd knew he loved him, had known for a while. But they hadn’t been dating long so he held those words back. He didn’t think he’d hold out much longer, though, not when Neil was so lovable, so breathtakingly beautiful and sweet, so easy to want, so perfectly fit in his arms. Todd loved him so much he didn’t know what to do with himself half of the time.

Neil shifted again and Todd leaned down to press a kiss at the edge of his eyebrow.

'I love you’.

I just want to be loved, but I don't want to input the burden of my existence onto someone's life when they could be happier without me.

The intimacy of answering the phone “Hey you.” The intimacy of stopping to wait when someone needs to tie their shoe. The intimacy of knowing when someone’s voice is thick with worry or sleep. The intimacy of singing (badly) with someone in the car. The intimacy of huddling together under a shelter/umbrella. The intimacy of instantly recognising someone’s handwriting. The intimacy of trying to make plans and, “Oh no we can’t, you’re working that day.” The intimacy of matching your pace to theirs as you walk. The intimacy of being there for someone as they cry. The intimacy of “How did you know that?” “Because I know you.” The intimacy of feeling someone’s warmth through their clothes when you hug. The intimacy of being given change that’s warm from the heat of someone else’s hand. The intimacy of shared, comfortable silence. The intimacy of knowing how someone would react. The intimacy of keeping the radio off when someone falls asleep on a long car journey. The intimacy of sharing one earbud each. The intimacy of noticing someone’s nervous habits. The intimacy of “I had a dream about you.” The intimacy of inside jokes. The intimacy of feeding someone food as they drive (or really any other time). The intimacy of knowing just how someone likes their tea/coffee. The intimacy of trying something new together and having no idea what you’re doing; the shared hesitancy. The intimacy of someone saying “Text me when you’re home safe.” The intimacy of someone falling asleep next to you. On your shoulder. In your company. The intimacy of sharing secrets in the nighttime, because 3am will never tell. The intimacy of someone’s pet recognising you and coming over to say hello. The intimacy of “This made me think of you.” The intimacy of borrowing a jacket still warm from their body heat.  The intimacy of seeing someone’s unfocused eyes when they first wake up. The intimacy of ordering food and “shall we share it?” The intimacy of someone sharing the meaning behind their tattoos. The intimacy of just looking at someone and dissolving into laughter together.

The way our souls lingered for each other – as if they had been separated and sent through the universe in eternal search for their lost part, in constant connection with each other, so that they can find each other again and again. They met under the covers of countless masks, unmasked each other with such intimacy that the pure act of unveiling was a revelation itself. With each collision fragments of long-buried memories became visible, everything that was hidden came to the surface and became decipherable and finally, our two souls merged into one.

I used to build dreams about you.

F. Scott Fitzgerald

not to be a taylor swift hater on main but if i see a bunch of cis, straight, superficial people getting into dead poets society bc of her new album, im burning everything down. i simply CANNOT allow for the tiktokificatiom of the beautifully crafted space dps fans have created bc the album title sounds like it