socially awkward.

Fragments, you

awarewolves:

We lay still, listening to the music of our breathing, slightly amused by the fact that respiration was in itself a valued performance, with oxygen as our choice of instrument.

You said that if we align our anatomies we can perfectly craft a constellation together. I said that every cell that makes you up was like a star, housed in the galaxies of your skin.

I’ve always known there were stories untold hidden under your tongue. They have always tasted of saltwater and burnt apples. I’d like to think you have always loved the sea.

Maybe someday, you’ll be able to grow wings secured by your backbone, and finally be able to swim through the skies. At night, you might smell like clouds and a hint of rain.