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Not Writing a Letter
I have to remember not to write her.
It’s a habit that’s hard to break so I sometimes write anyway and never send a thing. Real letters, emails, texts. They’re all the same: words I want to share, but remember at the very last moment that now they mean something else.
Honestly, I miss the sex the most.
You can always tell someone is lying when they start a sentence with honestly.
So how about this? The sex is the only thing I’ll admit to missing right now. Everything else will take longer to think, let alone share. Everything else will have to float to the surface on it’s own when I finally let down my guard and remember.
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(Source: luisahhhh, via worldonfire)
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French cuffs and real stockings with a garter belt. Yep.
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love notes
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