She is not “my girl.”
She belongs to herself, and to all of the world. And I am blessed, for with all her freedom, she still comes back to me, moment-to-moment, day-by-day, and night-by-night.
How much more blessed can I be?"
I need someone who will sit on a rooftop with me at 2 in the morning and will tell me their favorite songs and their family problems and how they think the earth was made
old golden retrievers are one of the purest forces of good on this planet
I think it’s important to note that in another life I could have loved you. I could have traced along the scar in between your forearm and bicep until the ridges were edged in my fingertips. Could have stood forever as we waited for the elevator and you ran your fingers through the back of my hair. There is a certain type of eternity that exists on the beach at night and I’d like to believe that the two of us are still there somehow, whispering between puffs of smoke and the laughter of shadows against the waves. In two days I memorized your pauses and the things you wouldn’t say. I understood that there were certain sentences you weren’t ready to speak aloud, especially not to me, and that the sand was just cool enough after sunset to take the sting away. Bow ties tied crooked after six or seven sips of Jack, we watched as the boys in suits danced and ran out amidst the music and the sea. You asked me to hold your flask and I took a sip that would have made me cringe a year ago, but just then it felt good on my throat and things have changed since eighteen stopped feeling so tall. For every skinned knee, every empty bottle, every moment my lungs caught fire, I was grateful for you. For the idea that there are people that exist in this life that lay beneath the starts with us, but when the sun steals the stars away these people brush the sand off their palms and continue on their way. We only look at them as they go and they look back at us, for a moment, maybe longer, with the promise of another dotted sky.