women
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I never understood why the world ached so badly for romantic love. Swooning and gushing and cooing over your partner, drowning yourselves in sickly-sweet nothings seemed like a tacky endeavour. Allowing yourself to be known and needed by another was a risk I didn’t want to see the fruits from, no matter the fulfillment it…
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Solitude is comfort.Sitting inside my heart, knowing it is just me to look out for,has a level of safety, of solace,of relief.I know my requirements and tend to them endlessly. But now there’s you.you.You have a space carved out inside my heart,with flashes of your strong hands and soft eyes,every squeal of joy,the tightness in…
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The ideaof men,of manhood,the way it tasted in my mouth,gaggingon my pitiful fortuned future,one where a manwith a hairy chest and no room in it for me,was what to desire,so I learned to choke back my own,believing a life without love,a throat full of thirst,was my white flag. So don’t tell me you always knew,because…
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I love women who are hard, who are calloused, whose fingertips are yellowed from cigarettes, who never divulges into their vulnerabilities until they give you little conversational snippets that you don’t dare pry into, who are aggresively maternal regardless of if they have children or not, who are rough and tactile and smart.
Lashanda Forsberg 