I think I like the broken ones best. The ones with scars on their chests, the ones who’ve fallen over board without a life vest, the ones who’ve hit rock bottom and clawed their way back up.

Touch me with your broken nails and tell me of all your dark tales. Tell me what you want me to know, the things that might make others go.

Bounce from heavy truths to levity and let understanding elevate us to somewhere new entirely, a new dimension of desire where we’re seen & understood.

I like the dark ones, the mending hands, and reanimated bodies. I’d like to run my fingertips over your imperfections and hear how healing changed you.