Author: Ryan

I’ve developed a taste for soft lips. The type of lips where I wake up and have an insatiable feeling to kiss it. Where my lips press onto your lips, and the world does not seem to matter. All that is left is my lips touching your lips. A feeling of connection starts with my lips to your lips, with … Read more ...

I have a dreamer’s eyes. It sees far into the future and far into the field. I have a dreamer’s eyes, and they are beautiful. But all people dream. We all close our eyes and dream of who we want to be. We all know that these dreams are nothing more than illusions of vanity. For to have dreamer’s eyes … Read more ...

There were no ordinary days when I was with you. Perhaps our souls had already intertwined before I even knew it. They must have said “I want you” way even before our bodies and minds could comprehend what was happening. We smile too much when we were together, honestly.

It was kind of annoying.… Read more ...

There are nights when I wonder. I wonder what my future will be? What my life would be like? Sometimes fear creeps in. Fear of failure, fear of nothingness, and just fear. Such strong fear can sometimes paralyze me, stops me from moving and makes me second guess everything. It takes a hold of me and won’t let go. It … Read more ...

What is with her that puts my mind into a haze? Perhaps we gave up too quickly, perhaps I could have been more honest, more confident. As our lives drift apart, I wonder what would our time be like if she were here beside me. Would I be spending my afternoons cuddling with her, and smelling her hair? Would I … Read more ...

She looked at me with sadness in her eyes as if she wanted to tell me something but couldn’t. There are moments in life where you cannot name them but you instinctively know in an instant. Moments when I brush my fingers on her cheeks or when I playfully kiss her neck or when I look deep into her eyes. … Read more ...

There were ink stains on her finger and the scent of coffee lingers in the room on a Saturday morning. She had been writing all day, for what purpose, I did not know. Calligraphy, a novel, poetry, or all of them, only she could tell. Sitting down at her coffee table as if she was oblivious to the fact that … Read more ...