Delicate

del·i·cate [ déllikət ] (adj.) of intricate design

7,640 notes

I think kissing is the most pure and raw form of physical contact there could ever be. Sex is intimate, sure, but you can have sex with anyone. A kiss though, my god. A kiss can change your world. A small touch between two pairs of lips can blow your mind. Whether it be short and sweet, or long and intense. And when you find someone that looks at you like you’re more beautiful than a blossoming rose; you never want to feel another’s lips against yours ever again.
The Purity of a Kiss - (jpzg)

(Source: jpzg, via incredibly-important-words-here)

2,500 notes

At my funeral I do not want
doves or a bed of roses.
You know how much I hate roses, anyway.
Have my sister wear that outfit
she never had enough confidence
to wear
with those shoes that never
quite match with anything.
Hire a priest to give a sermon
about how he lost his virginity
or about the flat tire he got
on the way to his divorce court date.
Do not stifle your giggles
or feel guilty when you smile
at my uncle who is falling asleep
in the pew.
It’s okay to delight in unconventionality.
After the service,
I want you to hold hands with the person
you love the most and tell them
they need to use more hand lotion.
I want you to text your boyfriend
a poem that describes his
“shit brown eyes”
and how much you adore them.
On the way to the cemetery
blast The Ramones or anything
from Nirvana’s Incesticide album
and scream all the lyrics
incorrectly.
When my casket is lowered into the ground,
do not wipe your eyes or your nose.
Let the wind take away your mess.
When they begin to cover me with dirt
and flowers that pricked your fingers
with thorns,
whisper to my family about how you still
haven’t forgiven me for breaking your
favorite coffee mug.
Maybe you will feel uneasy,
or maybe your lips will tremble.
But as you exhale
and fill your lungs with dry air,
listen to me tap against
the wooden walls of my tomb
and let the rhythm guide the beating
of your heart.
It is okay now.
It will always be okay.
Kimberly Siehl | At my funeral it will be okay (via hangingwallflower)

177 notes

Looking at me from the outside
will never be good enough. It’s not
the outer layer of me that you
have put through pain. Open me
up and see for yourself. See
what you were capable of.
See what you did to me
without a hint of regret
of how it may push me away
from others who are
worthy of my love.

I don’t want to say
that you ruined love for me,
because that sentence itself
is much too good for you
to even be able to read aloud.
So next time you invite over
a girl who looks like me
at 2 a.m. don’t tell her
that her skin reminds you
of someone you once loved.

You should know that
my skin is not a map
of places that you have
been to, and you do not
have the right to compare
my tainted from your touch body
to her mangled limbs.
She will never be able to
love you in the way
that I was able to. Not even
with a tongue coated in
hope that one day
she will come close.

"Even your heart knows that she can never really replace me," - Colleen Brown (via mostlyfiction)

1,171 notes

Love is a temporary madness, it erupts like volcanoes and then subsides. And when it subsides, you have to make a decision. You have to work out whether your roots have so entwined together that it is inconceivable that you should ever part. Because this is what love is. Love is not breathlessness, it is not excitement, it is not the promulgation of promises of eternal passion, it is not the desire to mate every second minute of the day, it is not lying awake at night imagining that he is kissing every cranny of your body. No, don’t blush, I am telling you some truths. That is just being “in love”, which any fool can do. Love itself is what is left over when being in love has burned away, and this is both an art and a fortunate accident.
Louis de Bernières, Captain Corelli’s Mandolin (via observando)