I could have kissed you under cherry blossoms, pale petals drifting down like the trees wanted to pretend they could be snowclouds.
I could have kissed you in the rain, drenched to our bones and not even caring that the skies opened up above us and tried to wash us out.
I could have kissed you in a clearing in the most secluded woods, with just the sound of wind rustling through the leaves and a few voyeuristic finches peeping at us.
Instead, I kissed you in the parking lot of a Waffle House, just shy of 2 a.m. in the middle of a hectic week, with our waitress grinning at us from the other side of the window, because, honestly, how could I not?
“The real truth is, I probably don’t want to be too happy or content. Because, then what? I actually like the quest, the search. That’s the fun. The more lost you are, the more you have to look forward to. What do you know? I’m having a great time and I don’t even know it.”—Ally Mcbeal (via thresca)
“I feel good with my husband: I like his warmth and his bigness and his being-there and his making and his jokes and stories and what he reads and how he likes fishing and walks and pigs and foxes and little animals and is honest and not vain or fame-crazy and how he shows his gladness for what I cook him and joy for when I make him something, a poem or a cake, and how he is troubled when I am unhappy and wants to do anything so I can fight out my soul-battles and grow up with courage and a philosophical ease.
I love his good smell and his body that fits with mine as if they were made in the same body-shop to do just that.
What is only pieces, doled out here and there to this boy and that boy, that made me like pieces of them, is all jammed together in my husband.
So I don’t want to look around any more: I don’t need to look around for anything.”—Sylvia Plath, The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath (via ancora-imparo)