gallixie:

The first time a boy called me beautiful,
it felt soft against my skin,
like the midnight air and flushed chill of our cheeks
existed outside of time.
Like no one could touch us.
That night, I felt invincible.

The first time a boy told me he loved me,
it didn’t feel soft;
it felt like the ocean, crashing against an unready shore
and I couldn’t catch my breath.
I’ve never been a good swimmer.
I’m still catching my breath.

It is so much easier to be beautiful
than it is to be loved.

— love has started to taste like salt // p.s.