I just hugged Zoe and I saw her hickies and wanted to kiss her lips over and over just like the day we got high and danced underneath moving lights and she was in my tutu and her blonde hair felt right tickling my face and the boy who is supposed to love her didn't notice and it made us laugh and laugh because if we didnβt laugh; we would have cried.
Why do we love to leave behind bruises on lips and necks and arms and eyes and teeth? It hurts but no matter what, no matter how much I crush my teeth together to hide my yelps, it always turns into this beautiful, beautiful mark that doesn't want pressure and looks like a sunset borrowed it itβs colors because no one, not even a bruise, wants to be ugly.