I can’t give you the Seven Wonders of the World. I can’t give you diamonds
or the Sphinx, I can’t give you gold
and I can’t give you the earth.
What I can give you is this rusted heart of mine,
I can give you the warmth of my hands.
Lips, to kiss every part of your body that you hate. Your skin and my lips will be married, believe me,
they will become the sea and the moon.
Everyday will be gravity. Magnets.

I can’t give you a crown, though you deserve it more than anyone.
I can’t promise you that we’ll always be fine. That we’ll never hurt.
Life will mark us. I can’t save you from that,
but I can endure it with you, I can hold you when it’s painful.
I can give you cotton sheets and tangled limbs
and remember-when’s when we are 67 and our skin has become crinkled paper,
I can give you the comfort of knowing that even the silence will be beautiful.
That when your fists are burning
and you can’t stand the world, I’ll love you.
All of your darkness and all of your light.
That even when you are screaming with rage, that you are still the universe to me,
that I need you to breathe.

I can’t give you everything.
I can’t give you wings.
But I can carry you when your legs are heavy,

and damnit, I can love you until you and I combust. Until we turn to stardust.

these hands will never be too full || Scarlette La Vaillante (via scarlettethewriter)