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1. My name; I want to hear it stumble out of your lips like the first steps of a child. I want you to roll each letter around your mouth— taste each syllable, suck it clean of its meaning — before letting it falter off your tongue.

2. Your fears; when you’re sober, you say you have none. We both know that’s bullshit.

3. Your first heartbreak; the way you were clawing shards of her words out of your skin for months after she left you. You didn’t wear your heart on your sleeve, you ripped it out of your chest and set it, barely beating, in her palms.
From every other angle, you seem whole, but from here I can see your cracks. I’ll seal them with honey but I wont stitch them back together, you’re even more beautiful this way.

4. What keeps you up at night; I want to know how many fireflies you think light up in heaven— I want to know if you really believe a place like that exists, or if its just what bankrupt souls tell themselves to keep from losing the spare change jingling in their back pocket. How there are more coins in the world than there is humanity.

5. Your mumbling; a shipwreck of sounds against my neck, I could float off to sea on a lifeboat made of your voice.

6. Love; I want to know if you think its possible to unravel yourself and leave nothing behind but a needle and thread to piece you back together. Or if the stardust in our veins have condemned us to orbit what we need most, never close enough to touch, forever chasing our desires.

7. Your breathing; inhale- butterflies spreading your lungs like wings, waiting to catch flight - exhale- all the words that got caught under your tongue, leaving the taste of regret like cheap wine staining your throat.

8. Your laughter; I want to feel it seep through my skin so I can wear it like last years perfume. I’ll hide your smile like bottles of vodka stashed under my bed— I could get drunk from either but nothing can intoxicate me like your lips.

9. Your voice; like rushing water, forcing its way into my cracks. I’ll throw away my umbrella if its you who can turn my bones into flower petals when it rains.

10. Nothing; I want to feel your heartbeat on my fingertips, rising and falling like the tide. I want your warmth flooding the curve of my hips, I want to taste questions in your collarbone and whisper answers back in your ear. I used to be scared by the vastness of space but I see the universe in your eyes and I swear I wouldn’t think twice before drowning in those.

10 things I want to hear when you’re drunk (via thewordsat3am)

the apartment floor
is littered with eggshells
and each crack
awakens your ghost in the walls

you’ve left behind so many pieces of you
that this place has become more yours than ours:
a museum of half-assed I love yous,
mismatched mugs, and a lazily-embroidered “forever”

train your ghost like an animal:
tie a leash around its neck,
teach him not to linger
in places it had thrashed and razed

you used to bring me daises
with the morning dew
still sliding off the petals
but you have always kept
your other hand behind your back,
clasped tightly on the door latch

you would look for the exit
before you would step into the entrance,
your back was full of tattoos
but you loved with one foot stuck outside the door

you never rode the elevator,
said that you felt trapped—
you told me the same thing
when i hugged you from the back

this place still lives in the past,
always creaking and ready
to welcome you back

i may have locked the door
and bolted the windows
but this place knows the sound of your footsteps;
they will unlock themselves for you

To the boy who loved with one foot stuck outside the door; Alahna Sy (via fauxpoet)
To Tumblr, Love Pixel Union