I don’t think I’m capable of love.
I can be your friend, I can talk about the deepest parts of you and your life and the ideas that keep you up at night. I can fuck you, simply because as human beings we want it, need it, and hell, because I like the way you look with carnal desire on your face. I can join you in your loneliness, hold you, lie with you and feel the rise and fall of your chest where you know that neither of us are alone, wake up to your kisses in the morning, waste the rest of the day just lying in bed laughing and musing about the bygone years and the daunting ones to come, what made us happy once, sad, nostalgic, hopeful, but
ah, that I cannot give.
→ Junot Diaz (via virginalvalour)