Somewhere out there, lovers are burning Paris to the ground with the friction between their hipbones;
somewhere they’re tearing Vegas up, its essence burrowing so far underneath their fingernails that the experience will soon make up the fabric of their souls.
Some people have lovers to come home to, who hand them cups of coffee in the mornings – three sugars when they need a boost;
some walk to work each morning with the lingering imprint of kisses on their skin, bitemarks that make them feel alive.
But my darling,
Somewhere out there, a man buys too many peaches to take back to the warehouse he lives in alone, knowing he won’t get through them all, hoping he might have a girl to slice them up for by the end of the week;
somewhere he bites his fingernails as he watches ‘Closer’ and promises himself he’ll never fall in love with a girl with pink hair and misplaced stars in her eyes – but that’s only because he hasn’t met you yet;
somewhere, a man who doesn’t remember the last time he wanted to call it ‘making love’, who writes his friends’ addresses down in a book to keep in the closet because he’s always losing his phone, who can read German but his accent is off, who swallows down ‘I love you’ when he calls his mother on a Thursday afternoon and leaves fruit forgotten on his record player,
My darling, he just hasn’t met you yet.
To my darling Dana,
bubblegum princess of my heart,
a little poem for you.
Daisy Lola xo(via spearmintblonde)