“Imagine this: that for once
the princess doesn’t need to be saved,
that the woman is a fucking hero,
that I can walk home alone
without clutching a Swiss Army knife.
Imagine this: you are no longer
flammable. You are not a match
to be lit, but you sure do strike.
Imagine this: you are not
the only one who
has ever felt this way.
Imagine this: you drape kisses
across your lover’s hip bones
You never have to be alone.
Imagine this: I hunt and I want,
and there’s not a damn thing
anyone can do about it.
Imagine this: you’re always situated
on the cusp of something
“Compassion is not a relationship between the healer and the wounded. It’s a relationship between equals. Only when we know our own darkness well can we be present with the darkness of others. Compassion becomes real when we recognize our shared humanity.”
“Kiss her. Slowly, take your time, there’s no place you’d rather be. Kiss her but not like you’re waiting for something else, like your hands beneath her shirt or her skirt or tangled up in her bra straps. Nothing like that. Kiss her like you’ve forgotten any other mouth that your mouth has ever touched. Kiss her with a curious childish delight. Laugh into her mouth, inhale her sighs. Kiss her until she moans. Kiss her with her face in your hands. Or your hands in her hair. Or pulling her closer at the waist. Kiss her like you want to take her dancing. Like you want to spin her into an open arena and watch her look at you like you’re the brightest thing she’s ever seen. Kiss her like she’s the brightest thing you’ve ever seen. Take your time. Kiss her like the first and only piece of chocolate you’re ever going to taste. Kiss her until she forgets how to count. Kiss her stupid. Kiss her silent. Come away, ask her what 2+2 is and listen to her say your name in answer.”
— Azra T., “This is how you keep her” (via stevenbong)