It’s no longer today.
Touching him was always so important to me. It was something I lived for. I never could explain why. Little, nothing touches. My fingers against his shoulder. The outsides of our thighs touching as we squeezed together on the bus. I couldn’t explain it, but I needed it. Sometimes I imagined stitching all of our little touches together. How many hundreds of thousands of fingers brushing against each other does it take to make love? Why does anyone ever make love?
― Jonathan Safran Foer, Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close (via writurs)

yougotvexed:

reasons to let me cuddle you:

  • I will stick my cold hands all over your body
  • I’ll probably fall asleep on you and make cute sleep noises
  • I can lay there long enough for the second coming of christ
  • nuzzling???
  • I will be smiling the whole time
  • you’re warm and I’m not
  • let me leech your heat
  • please
And then I fell in love with the colour of your eyes and I just knew there was no turning back.