fuck you all, it's a good song
My favorite has always been Howie...
I hate that I can barely remember how you smell. It's vague; cologne, maybe Curve. Clean laundry, vanilla, a little sweat because it was so hot out. You were so real. Everything about the moment made me feel more alive than I had ever been. The way your eyes pierced through me, the way the water dripped down your chiseled arms as my fingers moved slowly towards your shoulders, resting around your neck. You pulled me into you. I ran my fingers around the outline of your sports bra, then up through your short, wet hair. You commanded my attention. I loved that, for once, I didn't have to be strong. I could just be fragile and afraid inside the bubble of these moments, fleeting, and your wandering hands over the small of my back and waist. I felt sick and dizzy. I had never been so conscious of my own flesh. I worried that you didn't like what was in front of you. I felt my insecurity bubble, and my want overflow. You loved my shyness. It fed your ego. You loved that, in all other instances, I was cocky, even arrogant, yet flailing and unsure now that we were in the same moment, face to face, chest to chest. Soon I had you against the ropes, your back to me. Biting into you, softly. People walking by, appalled by the passion on display, yet undoubtedly jealous of our carelessness. I saw only you. You could feel only me. I kissed at your defined shoulders, soaked beneath your beater, tugging the fabric till it was taught, tighter as I moved in closer. I felt more secure without those eyes drilling into me. I could tell from the way we moved against each other it was real. I could feel it in the moment. You pushed me back, cornering me against the rough rope. I hurt my back, but I didn't care. You arms squared off at my sides, my thumbs in the beltloops of your jeans. I knew you were looking right at me, loving the way I avoided your eyes. Loving that I was terrified, yet enamored. I could taste it on your mouth when you kissed me and I pushed you away. Your lips, soft and full, were too intense. You sucked my strength right out of me. I hid my face in the nape of your neck, planting soft kisses. You moved back so you could see me, touching my face, moving your finger towards my lower lip. You mentioned how I'd been biting on it all day. I laughed and said nothing. You won. When you held me after, I closed my eyes and tried to save the feeling; lock it away inside myself so I could recall it any time I was lonely for your mouth against my neck, how you laughed softly in my ear and said you loved me before you let go, the way you flirted with your hips against mine. Back then, I didn't know that's how you were with all of us. I wonder if you really understood how much you moved me. I worry that I'll never feel that way again. It was so long ago. I wonder now, how I feel absolutely nothing about the only person on earth who has made me feel everything, and I worry that you'll be the only one who ever made me stutter.
Just something I was thinking about.
I hate that I can barely remember how you smell. It's vague; cologne, maybe Curve. Clean laundry, vanilla, a little sweat because it was so hot out. You were so real. Everything about the moment made me feel more alive than I had ever been. The way your eyes pierced through me, the way the water dripped down your chiseled arms as my fingers moved slowly towards your shoulders, resting around your neck. You pulled me into you. I ran my fingers around the outline of your sports bra, then up through your short, wet hair. You commanded my attention. I loved that, for once, I didn't have to be strong. I could just be fragile and afraid inside the bubble of these moments, fleeting, and your wandering hands over the small of my back and waist. I felt sick and dizzy. I had never been so conscious of my own flesh. I worried that you didn't like what was in front of you. I felt my insecurity bubble, and my want overflow. You loved my shyness. It fed your ego. You loved that, in all other instances, I was cocky, even arrogant, yet flailing and unsure now that we were in the same moment, face to face, chest to chest. Soon I had you against the ropes, your back to me. Biting into you, softly. People walking by, appalled by the passion on display, yet undoubtedly jealous of our carelessness. I saw only you. You could feel only me. I kissed at your defined shoulders, soaked beneath your beater, tugging the fabric till it was taught, tighter as I moved in closer. I felt more secure without those eyes drilling into me. I could tell from the way we moved against each other it was real. I could feel it in the moment. You pushed me back, cornering me against the rough rope. I hurt my back, but I didn't care. You arms squared off at my sides, my thumbs in the beltloops of your jeans. I knew you were looking right at me, loving the way I avoided your eyes. Loving that I was terrified, yet enamored. I could taste it on your mouth when you kissed me and I pushed you away. Your lips, soft and full, were too intense. You sucked my strength right out of me. I hid my face in the nape of your neck, planting soft kisses. You moved back so you could see me, touching my face, moving your finger towards my lower lip. You mentioned how I'd been biting on it all day. I laughed and said nothing. You won. When you held me after, I closed my eyes and tried to save the feeling; lock it away inside myself so I could recall it any time I was lonely for your mouth against my neck, how you laughed softly in my ear and said you loved me before you let go, the way you flirted with your hips against mine. Back then, I didn't know that's how you were with all of us. I wonder if you really understood how much you moved me. I worry that I'll never feel that way again. It was so long ago. I wonder now, how I feel absolutely nothing about the only person on earth who has made me feel everything, and I worry that you'll be the only one who ever made me stutter.
Just something I was thinking about.