imagine your otp as ex-childhood friends who get reunited in their 20s
imagine them living in a small town and wasting the days away laying around and playing music and getting drunk
imagine one of them’s an aspiring actor and the other dreams of being a musician and they have big dreams of moving to the city together, despite having almost no money or plans
imagine them actually doing it and getting a crappy tiny apartment and the actor scrapes by as a stagehand while the musician plays on the streets for spare change
imagine them cuddling in bed for warmth in the cold winter months and not worrying that they’re hardly brining in any money and all their savings are spent
imagine that their fathers are horrified and disown them but they don’t care cause they’re so happy and in love and finally doing what they want in life
Because one day, I might get hit by a bus.
Maybe it’s weird. Maybe it’s scary. Maybe it 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 in some way whether its your feet on their thighs on the couch or your tongue in their mouth or your heart in their hands.
And there is nothing more risky than pretending not to care.
We are young and we are human and we are beautiful and we are not as in control as we think we are. We never know who needs us back. We never know the magic that can arise between ourselves and other humans.
We never know when the bus is coming.