Что почитать: свежие записи из разных блогов

I want your flesh,

your skin and blood and bones,

your voice, your thoughts,

your pulse and most of all your fingerprints,

That you wake up in cold sweats, gulping in air.

You feel like you’ve drowned.

You wake up and still feel like you’re drowning.

Tell me that you’ve spent a great deal of time gazing at stars,

thinking that sometimes things look better farther apart.

That constellations are оnly beautiful because we have the space to connect the dots.

Now take it back. Tell me that you’re sorry.

That you know we’re not stars. We’re just people.

Tell me that you know there’s nothing poetic about plane tickets.

Tell me that you want to buy them anyway.

To be loved by something that hates all else.