Spam

there’s something so disgusting and feral and perverted about getting off to the smell of someone

getting handed your sweater or a blanket and it’s supposed to be for comfort when we can’t see each other but instead i’m fucking my toy and shoving my face into it because fuck. you just smell so good i couldn’t help it

it’s not my fault your smell throws me into a fucking heat, i’m just doing what dumb mutts are supposed to >_<

me when being in a relationship doesn’t make me want to live forever and cure me of my depression

what the fuck did i do SO wrong that i have to feel like this for the rest of my life

in bed with a boy whos sleepily yapping away about his nerdy little interest while you hold him so so tightly and hold your ear up to his beating heart. its going a little faster than usual

I love hearing boys ramble about shit I do NOT understand. You are so hot when you are incoherent. I’m glad you make sense to you though.

Why am I always going out of my way to be loved? Can’t I just be loved as is?

the “omg they messaged me!” to “why do they hate me?” to “omg they messaged me!” pipeline

Michael Cunningham, "The Hours" // Anne Sexton, "The Touch" // Charles M. Schulz, Peanuts and Last Night I Dreamt That Somebody Loved Me—The Smiths // F. Scott Fitzgerald, Tender Is the Night // Kelsey Landsgaard, A Soft Wrongness // J. D. McClatchy, "THE DIALOGUE OF DESIRE AND GUILT" // Marina Tsvetaeva, from notes // Yves Olade, Belovéd