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(via imgTumble)So well said. He’s right… those messy moments are THE moments.
Hands scrabble at backs, and your press your body against mine in a flounder. It’s the messy hugs that I love the best, because they’re the true ones. Where coordination goes out of the window in favour of fervour, just grabbing at one another because right now is too slow, and you need to be in my arms a moment ago, an hour ago, always.
The messy embraces are the ones that let me know that this is real. Life colours outside of the lines, with all the enthusiasm of a toddler, and fiction can’t stand to have those untidy, frayed edges leaking out all over the place. It needs order, where life is chaos. The mess is necessary. The mess is life. The failed high five, completely missing the mark. Missing the seat and falling on your arse. Trying to kiss me and bumping teeth. Beautiful little moments, a million little mistakes, each one making the reality of it all come crashing in on me, a hairline fracture on the window, before the water comes bursting through.
The mess lets me know you care more about the action than the execution, and that’s a powerful bit of knowledge. To clamour for me with such beautiful desperation is more than humbling, the kind of feeling that makes me know that yes, this is exactly why I want to be the person that I am, and do the things that I do. Desperate hands clawing at smug faces. Fingertips on smile lines.
(Source: deviantfemale, via naggisch)
Erotic only
