remember the first time we kissed?
we were both drunk. it was warm outside; the middle of summer. you couldn't stop kissing me. i turned around and you'd plant your lips firmly on mine. you tasted like strawberry chapstick and vodka. you wouldn't stop kissing me. i never said no.
you got so sad when i had to kiss that other guy to get into the club, remember? you were pouting. actually pouting! fucking pouting and if my poor drunk heart didn't die right then and there. sorry, and i'd kiss you. sorry baby i'm sorry, and i'd kiss you again. and you'd close your lips tightly until i tickled you and you laughed and i took my chance and kissed you again. kissing while waiting in line, kissing in the club, holding your hand and sleeping together, just sleeping together and waking up with my nose nuzzled against your neck, your skin so soft like cotton, everything smelled like you, and then you had to leave and you told me i moaned a bit when you kissed me goodbye and said it was the cutest thing and
you're too good for me
what is this. rip this out of me right now
but yet
i can't live if it's not for someone. it comes with the mental illness package. knowing someone like you exists, with golden hair and copper eyes, it makes waking up a little easier. it makes the struggle worth while.