100 Reasons to Stay Alive~
Just a friendly reminder in case you had forgotten all of the wonderful little things that makes life worth the struggle~
Wrote up this list as an additional page on my blog and will be adding more as time goes on. If you have any suggestions you want to see on this list, feel free to message me.
Life is worth it.
I love you.
Sex is not a goddamn performance.
Sex should feel as natural as drinking water.
It should not require confidence.
Sex should happen, because the moment is ripe.
Ripening lips, ripening labia, ripening cock, ripening pupils, ripening state of being. Ripe and augmented and brimming. Your energy goes to your pumping heart, then to every external nerve, then to theirs, on fire.
You bask, roll, play in it. You sigh, moan, laugh.
It’s not about being “good in bed.”
It’s about being happy.
One should never worry if they’re doing it “correctly.” Sex is not factual. I don’t want your cookie-cutter sex, I don’t want your meticulously crafted, calculated, fool-proof fuck. I don’t want a show. I want you. Let your instincts, urges and whims define that. It’s enough.
What do most girls like? Forget about it. Statistics are meaningless when there’s only one. Hello, here’s me. Here’s you.
Don’t worry about taking it too slow. We got time. We got infinite rhythms, combinations, possibilities. Explore each fuck. Take our time. We can do a different one later.
Don’t worry about making me come. I’m here. Right where I want to be.
I am overwhelmed by wanting; you don’t have to convince me. I want you because I like you. So don’t put on a front. Don’t taint this.
I’m frustrated—it’s just authenticity I want.
Don’t say that something I like is ugly. Don’t compare yourself to the rest. You will live and die with and within your experiences like everyone else. If someone thinks you are amazing, they are not wrong. Their universe is as real as any other; it is forged through perception.
I don’t care if you accidentally slammed my head into the wall, if you slipped out, if my arm cracked, if the delightful pressure of your wet lips on my anything made a silly sound. There is no right way and no wrong way.
“Good in bed,” what.
You’re good in my bed. I’m pleased you’re there. I feel it suits you.
Shove your technique. Let your memory swallow it. Fuck me like you’d fuck me, fuck me like you feel.
This isn’t a test.
Like. There are a lot of things I could say here. But I’m just going to do my best to answer your question, and the answer is either very simple or very complicated, depending on your current point of view.
1. “They” knew what people with brown skin looked like because people with brown skin had been there literally THE ENTIRE TIME. Some (and father back, ALL) of “them” had brown skin themselves.
2. “People with Brown Skin” and “Europeans” are not separate and mutually exclusive groups.
3. No matter how far back you go, the mythical time that you’re looking for, when all-white, racially and culturally isolated Europe was “real”, will continue to recede from your grasp until it winkles out the like imaginary place it is.
We can just keep going back. In every area, from all walks of life, rich and poor, kings and peasants, artists and iconoclasts, before there were countries and continents, before there were white people.
The time when “EVERYONE” in Europe was White does not exist. They knew what people with brown skin looked like because they were there. They knew what “Africans” looked like because they were there, and they weren’t “they”, they were us, or you. I think what you’re missing is something that never existed.