Sunday, October 5, 2008

This one is for you:

Dear Me,
You poked smot! Bad girl.

This weekend was horribly perfect. I loved it. I like sleeping next to him. I like kissing him in front of everyone. I like knowing that the bitches can't have him. I like breathing in and feeling him doing the same, simultaneously. I like my over-analyzed conclusion of his person. I like that he is more genuine than anyone I know. I like that he calls me his girlfriend, not JUST to me, but to other people too. I like him. I like him. I like him. A ridiculous amount.


Alright, here. I will unleash this to you with all of the glorious words I have.

I was lying in his arms thinking louder than I have ever thought before. I thought I was screaming, I thought I was yelling it at the top of my lungs. I wasn't. There wasn't a sound uttering from my lips. Other than, of course, an inane giggle, and a sensuous breath. I could feel the words coming up to my tongue and rolling off. "Not yet, calm down," I beckoned. They plummeted back into my throat. "Thank you," I thought to myself.

I've never felt that good.

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