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When I was trying to quit smoking
and we drank white wine from Mason jars,
you called my freckles cocoa powder
and I called your green eyes

I am learning how to be a grown-up
who pays bills, cooks her own meals,
and doesn’t cry at words like
I think I just want to be friends.

The truth is this:
Love is an organic thing.
It rots and softens.


All That’s Left To Tell, Clementine von Radics

(Source: clementinevonradics, via fennist)

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"Will you love me in December as you do in May?"

Jack Kerouac

(Source: larmoyante, via theotherway)

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"Well, I can’t describe her exactly—except to say that she was beautiful. She was—tremendously alive."

F. Scott Fitzgerald

(Source: rarararambles, via fennist)

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