Lauren || 17 || Michigan, Ohio and Maryland. Gay. Instagram: lsinclair96


Could you imagine getting an apartment with the person you love. Falling asleep beside each other, and waking up to see that cute little dopey smile they make when they first get up. You’d never have a bad start to your day, because they’d be the perfect start.


Sex is not a goddamn performance. Sex should feel as natural as drinking water. It should not require confidence.

Sex should happen, because the moment is ripe. Ripening lips, ripening labia, ripening cock, ripening pupils, ripening state of being. Ripe and augmented and brimming. Your energy goes to your pumping heart, then to every external nerve, then to theirs, on fire.

You bask, roll, play in it. You sigh, moan, laugh. It’s not about being “good in bed.” It’s about being happy.

One should never worry if they’re doing it “correctly.” Sex is not factual. I don’t want your cookie-cutter sex, I don’t want your meticulously crafted, calculated, fool-proof fuck. I don’t want a show. I want you. Let your instincts, urges and whims define that. It’s enough.

What do most girls like? Forget about it. Statistics are meaningless when there’s only one. Hello, here’s me. Here’s you. Don’t worry about taking it too slow. We got time. We got infinite rhythms, combinations, possibilities. Explore each fuck. Take our time. We can do a different one later.

Don’t worry about making me come. I’m here. Right where I want to be. I am overwhelmed by wanting; you don’t have to convince me. I want you because I like you. So don’t put on a front. Don’t taint this.

I’m frustrated—it’s just authenticity I want. It’s originality. It’s passion. It’s joy. Don’t say that something I like is ugly. Don’t compare yourself to the rest. You will live and die with and within your experiences like everyone else. If someone thinks you are amazing, they are not wrong. Their universe is as real as any other; it is forged through perception.

I don’t care if you accidentally slammed my head into the wall, if you slipped out, if my arm cracked, if the delightful pressure of your wet lips on my anything made a silly sound. There is no right way and no wrong way.

“Good in bed,” what. You’re good in my bed. I’m pleased you’re there. I feel it suits you. Shove your technique. Let your memory swallow it. Fuck me like you’d fuck me, fuck me like you feel. This isn’t a test.


by (via theflowersofromance)

"I kissed you as hard as I could and whispered “I love you” in your ear and I smiled and then I told you that I wished I had never met you and I could see the confusion and hurt dripping down your face from the furrow in your brow. You asked why and I told you that you were etched into my bones and mixed in with the blood in my veins. Your voice was caught in the sky and your laugh was intertwined with the stars. I was a wreck before I met you. I think you saved me. I was on fire and you put me out. I was falling apart and you laced me back together. I taste you on my tongue. I see you in my sleep. But we’re young and in love and we both know that never really lasts. You’re going to meet someone prettier and nicer and smarter who finds that spot on your neck, where you love to be kissed, on your second date. And you’re going to love her. And I’ll slip from your mind, but you’ll always be in mine. Or maybe you won’t meet someone else. But you’ll find yourself thinking about other things before you fall asleep, things that have nothing to do with me and the color of my eyes. And you’ll start to realize that you really hate the way I laugh too loud and how I curl my hair around my finger when I’m nervous. You’ll get tired of finding me on the bathroom floor and cleaning blood from the sheets. The things you loved about me will get twisted in your mind, they’ll fade away and make your skin itch. You’ll get sick of it all and leave. Or maybe, we’re so in love that that could never happen. But something will happen. I’ll meet your mother and she’ll see that my dress is too short and that I’m not good enough for you and she’ll introduce you to her friend’s daughter, the one with a scholarship, who has glasses and pretty hair and volunteers at the animal shelter every thursday for 6 am to 12 pm. Or maybe you’ll get into college on the other side of the country. You’ve always liked warm weather. And I’ll stay here because we both know I’m not good with change. You’re the only thing that makes me happy but this is bound to end and the fire will start again and I’ll fall apart like I used to. I can’t breathe without you. I’m just waiting for the day my lungs cave in on themselves."

by I wish I had never met you   (via loveandpalmtrees)

Most relevant thing I have ever read.