I am eternally, devastatingly romantic, and I thought people would see it because romantic doesn’t mean sugary. It’s dark and tormented — the furor of passion, the despair of an idealism that you can’t attain.

—Catherine Breillat, “Interview by Martin Tsai,” The New York Sun (via wordsnquotes)

(via wordsnquotes)

Distance is not for the fearful, it is for the bold. It’s for those who are willing to spend a lot of time alone in exchange for a little time with the one they love. It’s for those knowing a good thing when they see it, even if they don’t see it nearly enough.

—Loving From A Distance (via h-o-r-n-g-r-y)

(Source: tophersoasis, via h-o-r-n-g-r-y)

You can be in a relationship for two years and feel nothing; you can be in a relationship for 2 months and feel everything. Time is not a measure of quality; of infatuation, or of love.

What my relationships have taught me. (via amouseinminnesota)

Time is not a measure of quality; of infatuation, or of love. 

(via new-seas)

(Source: lozzat, via muchandfiercely)

Sex is not a goddamn performance. Sex should feel as natural as drinking water. It should not require confidence.

Sex should happen, because the moment is ripe. Ripening lips, ripening labia, ripening cock, ripening pupils, ripening state of being. Ripe and augmented and brimming. Your energy goes to your pumping heart, then to every external nerve, then to theirs, on fire.

You bask, roll, play in it. You sigh, moan, laugh. It’s not about being “good in bed.” It’s about being happy.

One should never worry if they’re doing it “correctly.” Sex is not factual. I don’t want your cookie-cutter sex, I don’t want your meticulously crafted, calculated, fool-proof fuck. I don’t want a show. I want you. Let your instincts, urges and whims define that. It’s enough.

What do most girls like? Forget about it. Statistics are meaningless when there’s only one. Hello, here’s me. Here’s you. Don’t worry about taking it too slow. We got time. We got infinite rhythms, combinations, possibilities. Explore each fuck. Take our time. We can do a different one later.

Don’t worry about making me come. I’m here. Right where I want to be. I am overwhelmed by wanting; you don’t have to convince me. I want you because I like you. So don’t put on a front. Don’t taint this.

I’m frustrated—it’s just authenticity I want. It’s originality. It’s passion. It’s joy. Don’t say that something I like is ugly. Don’t compare yourself to the rest. You will live and die with and within your experiences like everyone else. If someone thinks you are amazing, they are not wrong. Their universe is as real as any other; it is forged through perception.

I don’t care if you accidentally slammed my head into the wall, if you slipped out, if my arm cracked, if the delightful pressure of your wet lips on my anything made a silly sound. There is no right way and no wrong way.

“Good in bed,” what. You’re good in my bed. I’m pleased you’re there. I feel it suits you. Shove your technique. Let your memory swallow it. Fuck me like you’d fuck me, fuck me like you feel. This isn’t a test.

—Unknown   (via fuckinq)

(Source: nikolaiolivier, via igotgamebythepound)

When I found out the woman who lorded over my social life was getting dicked by my husband, life as I knew it ended. There were the big, obvious changes like my family splitting up and losing the home I had made for myself over 12 years. But I lost Saturday evenings at Music on Main. Long weekends at Smokey’s Farm up north. Debaucherous nights spent around a bonfire in the middle of the woods with people who, like a fool, I loved and trusted with my whole heart. And the tiny, little things that are the most painful - like having someone to share my morning coffee with while sleepily planning the day ahead. And being in love with someone 900 miles away has only intensified my sense of loneliness these past few days. I’m tired of going to bed and waking up alone. Really, really tired.

When I found out the woman who lorded over my social life was getting dicked by my husband, life as I knew it ended. There were the big, obvious changes like my family splitting up and losing the home I had made for myself over 12 years. But I lost Saturday evenings at Music on Main. Long weekends at Smokey’s Farm up north. Debaucherous nights spent around a bonfire in the middle of the woods with people who, like a fool, I loved and trusted with my whole heart. And the tiny, little things that are the most painful - like having someone to share my morning coffee with while sleepily planning the day ahead. And being in love with someone 900 miles away has only intensified my sense of loneliness these past few days. I’m tired of going to bed and waking up alone. Really, really tired.