He’s more myself than I am. Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same. — Emily Brontë, Wuthering Heights (via observando)
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I want to see you.
Know your voice.
Recognize you when you
first come ‘round the corner.
Sense your scent when I come
into a room you’ve just left.
Know the lift of your heel,
the glide of your foot.
Become familiar with the way
you purse your lips
then let them part,
just the slightest bit,
when I lean in to your space
and kiss you.
I want to know the joy
of how you whisper
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Now that your rose is in bloom,
A light hits the gloom on the grave,
I’ve been kissed by a rose on the grave. — Seal (via observando)