Blushed moon.
I would like to have a group, a group called butterfly society in which the members could declare any day Christmas and the rest would come over and celebrate it. I would celebrate being silly, insecure, being shying but as well a little bit sexy or cute af. And not being sorry about that. I think that people who really care about me would like to come - just to see me happy. Because if you care about someone you want to see her or him happy, don't you? You want them to look at you just like you are a piece of their hearts. You want him to look at you like you are all of his desires and at least one more, that he never thought about. Being sure that he really enjoys sleeping beside you every night is probably the thing that makes your nightmares go away. These useless arguments about your own body - it echoes in your head as a spell when he is inside you, together with his whisper. Sometimes you don't have to speak to each other, you can't find the right words to say when all that feels like worship. Maybe one day you'll close your eyes and you'll for one short moment again enjoy that feeling, when our bodies are extremely wet and when you barely can breathe - when nothing else matters. We gonna give our minds time off, we gonna celebrate.
I look back too often, but I've read somewhere that if you must look back you should do it forgivingly. I'll remember you, you became a piece of me. But you know, I mentioned your name to the moon tonight and I swear it blushed a crimson hue. And maybe we don't crave anything too wild but we have someone to run their fingers down the knots of your hair.
I feel like we opened a random page of our lives and we expect we will understand it. It's not that simple boy. But, if you will carry on, do not stay unfazed like there was never a mention of my name on your lips. Too many times I thought that I don't matter. Sometimes you believe that you don't matter at all. What are you? A small human being in front of greatnesses of the world. You are a thin glass in a window, moving in the quiet rain. You stick to the really small house inside of nowhere. You're crying, laughing, screaming like you have never ever existed for real.
Roztańczone w cichym deszczu
szklane szyby domostw małych,
płaczą, śmieją się i wrzeszczą
jakby nigdy nie istniały.
I look back too often, but I've read somewhere that if you must look back you should do it forgivingly. I'll remember you, you became a piece of me. But you know, I mentioned your name to the moon tonight and I swear it blushed a crimson hue. And maybe we don't crave anything too wild but we have someone to run their fingers down the knots of your hair.
I feel like we opened a random page of our lives and we expect we will understand it. It's not that simple boy. But, if you will carry on, do not stay unfazed like there was never a mention of my name on your lips. Too many times I thought that I don't matter. Sometimes you believe that you don't matter at all. What are you? A small human being in front of greatnesses of the world. You are a thin glass in a window, moving in the quiet rain. You stick to the really small house inside of nowhere. You're crying, laughing, screaming like you have never ever existed for real.
Roztańczone w cichym deszczu
szklane szyby domostw małych,
płaczą, śmieją się i wrzeszczą
jakby nigdy nie istniały.
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