Anonymous asked:

all your words taste like a beginning, and darling i hate my beginnings but this is so clean, and i want to make this pretty, i want to say clean like a cauterization but i don’t want to lie—oh, i lie so often don’t i, like this, trying to (1/3)

sctir answered:

bare my heart and ripping the flesh guarding it and swallowing down words with bile, but, oh, i could find all my redemptions and all my truths in your hands. i’ve never trusted palm reading, but the veins tracing across your skin could shape me (2/3)

into something new and i’d swandive blindfolded with it. oh, lover, this tastes clean and i don’t mean i’ve been cauterized, i mean like the air after a storm has ripped it’s way through me, i mean like a stillness, i mean like something beautiful. (3/3)

all of this tastes like something new, a morning, a birth. my hands are rough and soft all in one because if i could hold you, i would. oh, darling, a wound stitched shut is a wound still but a wound heals, it’s what it does, it’s what we do, so live, lover, live, and lie if you need to or want to and then rest in the grooves of my hands. you’ll be safe there.

(i’m crying, you have such a way with words, thank you for giving them to me)