a word of advice: open your windows. wash your sheets. exfoliate your legs. read a paperback. make your bed. moisturize every inch of your body. go to sleep with soft skin and sheets that smell like the wind and a mind full of words worth dreaming about
*rubs hands together* so how much caffeine am I going to dump into my garbage body today
reasons to let me cuddle you:
You are meant to fight. When you are sick, your body fights for its right to function. When you hold your breath, your body fights for its right to breathe. There are billions of tiny events—from the surface of your skin, down to the very cells of your body—that have to happen in order for you to be simply sitting here today. If your most minuscule parts haven’t given up yet,
Why should you?
Idk my relationship with my siblings is always either “yo I’ll help you hide the body” or “do not even breathe in my direction” there is no in between.
Pissed off? Frustrated? Or worse, bored?
Go put your hands on something. It’s moving meditation. Cook a meal. Split a log. Go build something. Even a Lego tower will do the trick.
Build something. Put something into the world. Add to it. No one will be able to take that away from you.
Mechanics. Carpenters. Cooks. These people have jobs that can’t be outsourced and there’s always more work to do.
Put your hands on something. It’s good for you.
Take it all back. Life is boring, except for flowers, sunshine, your perfect legs. A glass of cold water when you are really thirsty. The way bodies fit together. Fresh and young and sweet. Coffee in the morning. These are just moments. I struggle with the in-betweens. I just want to never stop loving like there is nothing else to do, because what else is there to do?
Some things will just make you blush right between your legs.
Instantly.
Not in your face.
Between your thighs.
& its marvelous.
Screw your hand-holding, down the lane kind of love. I want an in-your-face, mud-slinging, rough and rowdy love. The kind you take your jacket off and roll up your pant legs for. The kind that brings out that wild toothy grin, that free fire behind those docile eyes. the kind that messes up your hair, and smells of the world.
Tim Cheneval (via saintofsass)
With all this romance in the air, taking note from Tim’s words.
(via bearschapter)
adventuresong