When the bus comes...

I love being horribly straightforward. I love sending reckless text messages (because how reckless can a form of digitalized communication be?) and telling people that I love them, telling people that they are absolutely magical human beings and that I cannot believe they exist. 
I love saying “kiss me harder,” and “you’re a good person,” and “you brighten my day.” I live my life as straightforward as possible.


Because one day, I might get hit by a bus.


Maybe that’s weird. 


And maybe it’s scary, and seems downright impossible to just be—to just let people know you want them, need them, feel like, in this very moment, you will die if you do not see them, hold them, touch them—whether it’s your feet under theirs or your thighs touching on the couch, or your tongue in their mouth, maybe it’s their heart in your hands. 


There is nothing more beautiful than being desperate.


And there is nothing more risky than pretending not to care.


We are young, beautiful, wild human beings, and we are not always as in control as we like to think. We never know who needs us back. We never know the magic that can arise between ourselves and other human beings.


We never know when we’ll get hit by a bus. 


People say that your life really, literally flashes before your eyes before you die. Something about the last few minutes of death, studied to conclude the idea of living your life over before the last breath escapes your soul. 
So when the bus does come, I promise that you’ll want to remember every moment and impact you had with the thousands of beings you came across.

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