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extrasad reblogged
extrasad reblogged
I dangled my feet off the side of his bed
Swinging them just above the cold floor
Refusing to make contact with the hardwood
“I can’t find my socks,” I complained.
They were tangled somewhere in the sheets
Lost to the night before.
“Here, do you want a nice pair of wool socks?” He offered in a rare show of thoughtfulness.
I nodded and he dug through the pile of fresh laundry I knew he’d probably never put away
And pulled out a pair of striped socks, well-loved.
“You have to give these back,” he said, kissing me on the head.
I went home, his socks slouching around my ankles, delighted because:
A. I had something special to him, something that he wanted back and was trusting me to care for and return. I would never just lend my favorite socks or gloves to just anyone. Having something special of his must make me special to him.
B. He wanted to see me again. This was his way of telling me that. If anything, we’d at least have to see each other again so I could return his favorite socks.
A few weeks later, we spoke on the phone about past lovers and the souvenirs we’d kept. I told him about the quilt on my bed that a much older man had offered me on my way out the door, and the tshirt in my pajama drawer that belonged to my first love, unworn and unwashed for years.
“What are you going to keep of mine?” He teased.
“Well, I already have your socks,” I replied.
“What socks,” he asked?
My god, I feel everything too deeply.
extrasad reblogged
youre weirdly obsessed with finding meaning
what do you mean by this
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The World of Interiors, February 2024. Photo - Mikael Lundblad
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Stephen Doherty, ink and watercolor on paper
extrasad reblogged
I dangled my feet off the side of his bed
Swinging them just above the cold floor
Refusing to make contact with the hardwood
“I can’t find my socks,” I complained.
They were tangled somewhere in the sheets
Lost to the night before.
“Here, do you want a nice pair of wool socks?” He offered in a rare show of thoughtfulness.
I nodded and he dug through the pile of fresh laundry I knew he’d probably never put away
And pulled out a pair of striped socks, well-loved.
“You have to give these back,” he said, kissing me on the head.
I went home, his socks slouching around my ankles, delighted because:
A. I had something special to him, something that he wanted back and was trusting me to care for and return. I would never just lend my favorite socks or gloves to just anyone. Having something special of his must make me special to him.
B. He wanted to see me again. This was his way of telling me that. If anything, we’d at least have to see each other again so I could return his favorite socks.
A few weeks later, we spoke on the phone about past lovers and the souvenirs we’d kept. I told him about the quilt on my bed that a much older man had offered me on my way out the door, and the tshirt in my pajama drawer that belonged to my first love, unworn and unwashed for years.
“What are you going to keep of mine?” He teased.
“Well, I already have your socks,” I replied.
“What socks,” he asked?
My god, I feel everything too deeply.
extrasad reblogged
tami williams @ ulyana sergeenko ss20
why is every single message in my inbox from porn bots? If u want to trick me into clicking a link u should try messaging me something like “check out this rly cute off-the-shoulder top it would look soo good on u and also ur really pretty and funny”
extrasad reblogged
extrasad reblogged
In the woods (pixel version)
