It’s your confidence and self-acceptance, how your lips look like home and the way you’re overflowing with little unexpected charms. It’s your eyes an your much-loved cheeks and the netted fabric you keep close to your ribs because it smells like our last meal together and a whiff of my cigarettes. It’s the sensation of jumping into something new with you; this sense of walking hand in hand and both of us burning and drowning and growing and flying—it’s you. You’re my miracle.

— jespica,
dreaming good things.