"at the end of every path inside my head is you."
his words slap me across the face like the frigid winter air. but rather than being bone cold, i'm drenched in his fever; writhing in his poesy. for he awakens my soul, he quiets my mind, he renews my heart. this massive vessel that pulses, perpetually, for him... for his fingertips painting themselves onto my skin.
photo : my tumblr.