When I face you, I can’t tell you.
When I sit side by side with you, I couldn’t tell you.
When do I tell you that you are the only one of the kind and you are unique to me.
When I was trying to quit smoking
and we drank white wine from Mason jars,
you called my freckles cocoa powder
and I called your green eyes
I am learning how to be a grown-up
who pays bills, cooks her own meals,
and doesn’t cry at words like
I think I just want to be friends.
The truth is this:
Love is an organic thing.
It rots and softens.
All That’s Left To Tell, Clementine von Radics (via clementinevonradics)
Stephen King, On Writing (via nickmiller)