I need to accept that I’ll never look how I want to.
I hear that.
Ever feel like you need to make out with someone?
Deeply, passionately, aggressively.
Until you’re warm from the inside out, you’re face is flushed, your lips are swollen and sore from all the contact and biting. Fingers knotted up in the other ones hair, heart racing. You know, that kind of thing?