Lava is the code name for a man who I’m newly reunited with, who is hot beyond all belief, and is sweeping me off my feet just by being himself.
it’s raining baby somehow the sun doesn’t seem to shine when you’re gone something about your eyes being indoors make night come faster brings a taste of loneliness to laughter songs sound flatter. right now everything else is secondary I want to see you.
It’s almost uncomfortable. almost. The way you make me feel – unreal unfamiliar but not unclear. Even though I’ve never felt them before, I know exactly what they are. Butterflies. I’ve heard people talk about this before, and thought them crazy or caught in the throes of some lustful intoxication that feels like lust but I’ve felt lust and this is no duplication. The funny thing is that it’s not constant, I only seem to get this electric fluttering when we’re on that same wavelength. Like … connected. I hate that this feels fated. Men are normally the ones who feel that about me. And I enjoy that high and indulge. It’s easy for me to tune into other people, to feel their feelings in my body, to intuitively be able to draw the stress from their bodies, insinuate peace into their minds, to get them to feel me, to feel me the way they can see some version of the real me. I guess that’s the reason I’m always the one to leave. But man… these butterflies. My belly dancing with your memory in it. Fluttering and diving, just thinking of you. Like an insane person. Like one of those crazy, about to fall off the cliff into love people. Man, am I in trouble… I’m so afraid to feel this way, to be swept into being into you or letting you be into me and I can’t figure out why. I guess I am too impatient and both
