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

love

ah, that I cannot give.

runwayandbeauty:

Xiao Wen Ju and Chiharu Okunugi - Paris Fashion Week Fall/Winter 2014, street style

You can’t find intimacy—you can’t find home—when you’re always hiding behind masks. Intimacy requires a certain level of vulnerability. It requires a certain level of you exposing your fragmented, contradictory self to someone else. You’re running the risk of having your core self rejected and hurt and misunderstood.

Junot Diaz  (via virginalvalour)

(Source: motiya)