This cosmic dance of bursting decadence and withheld permissions twists all our arms collectively but, if sweetness can win, and it can, then i'll still be here tomorrow to high-five you yesterday my friend. Peace.
“Touching him was always so important to me. It was something I lived for. Little, nothing touches. My fingers against his shoulder. The outsides of our thighs touching as we squeezed together on the bus. I couldn’t explain it, but I needed it. Sometimes I imagined stitching all of our little touches together. How many hundreds of thousands of fingers brushing against each other does it take to make love?”—Jonathan Safran Foer (via clavicola)