jennyeatsbabies.

I reread things a lot—the stories I’ve shared, the feelings I’ve saved and most of the time I wonder if it’s all the same: the stolen touches, the romantic antics and the childish sublime.

Most of the things on this tumblr hurt, but sometimes most of them remind me of you: of the way we stole about the night—about how you took a challenge so chaste and made those arms feel like home.

It’s been so long and I’ve grown so soon but I’m sitting here in the cold and I feel like the jilted seventeen year old you begged to kiss but both parts of me can’t seem to figure if it was worth it at all.