the art of being me

--Jess--19--brisbane--uni student--music--love--dirty things--funny-- ask me anything

You’re both my illness and my medicine.

—Suffocante (via suffocante)

(via edaticy)

When sex becomes a production or performance that is when it loses its value. Be mutual. Be loud. Be clumsy. Make noises, be quiet, and make a mess. Bite, scratch, push, pull, hold, thrust. Remove pressure from the moment. Love the moment. Embrace it. Enjoy your body; enjoy your partners’ body. Produce sweat, be natural, entice your senses, give into pleasure. Bump heads, miss when you kiss, laugh when it happens. Speak words, speak with your body, speak to their soul. Touch their skin, kiss their goose bumps, and play with their hair. Scream, beg, whimper, sigh, let your toes curl, lose yourself. Chase your breath; keep the lights on, watch their eyes when they explode. Forget worrying about extra skin, sizes of parts and things that are meaningless. Save the expectations, take each second as it comes. Smear your make up, mess up your hair, rid your masculinity, and lose your ego. Detonate together, collapse together, and melt into each other.

Say it before you run out of time. Say it before it’s too late. Say what you’re feeling. Waiting is a mistake.

—(via invisuble)

(Source: icanrelateto, via m-ildawn)

That’s how you know you love someone, I guess. When you can’t experience anything without wishing the other person were there to see it, too.

—Kaui Hart Hemmings (via larmoyante)

(via m-ildawn)