I love nights that never stray far from seventy degrees. I love the way that moonlight looks splashed across calm faces. I love the rain, even when it’s an ugly day. I love cemetaries and all the strange reverence we leave there. I love mocking people whose feelings I will never see hurt. I love imagining that I’m worth remembering, even though I know very well that I am not. I love thinking that I’m the one who got away, when all along, I’m the one that was never chased. I love the timbre of voices cooing in pleasure and laughter. I love stupid jokes. I love the deep bass of a man’s voice, and generally long to put my ear to his chest to hear it more purely. I love being touched on the shoulders or the nape of my neck. I love the dances we engage in every single day. I love not having to say out loud everything I’d like to convey. I love going. I love breasts, and everything they do. I love places where I can see the stars. I love feeling that I’ve wrapped up everything. I love a healthy sense of paranoia. I love ice. I love music that is melancholy, but with words that offer some promise. I love being barefoot. I love catching someone’s eye, even if I’m not very good at holding it. I love being in love. I love all the people I’ve surrounded myself with, in all their complexity and curiousness. I love smiling all the time. I love myself.
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