She wonders what it would be like to have her lips on hers, to taste the sweetness of the lip balm she sees her apply, to have her teeth rake across that plump bottom lip as her hands dive into her hair; wonders what it would be like to have her up against a wall, legs wrapped around her so tightly that they could feel their shared pulses between them, feet locked together just to make sure their still intertwined.

Your best friend sneaks into the guest room – your room – that night, holds you close and kisses you like you’re air and she’s dying.   

And we left our love in our summer skin...      

Petrichor:

You feel her lips on yours and you're sure that this time it’s real because you’re suddenly so conscious of how her hands are moving through your hair and her teeth are grazing across your bottom lip and it doesn’t even matter that she’s had six other boyfriends that she’s kissed or that she’ll probably apologise for this in the morning because all that matters right now is that she’s telling you she loves you and that

She smiled, eyes stinging and for a second, she contemplated kissing the person beside her, contemplated pouring out every single emotion into with her own, pinning her wrists to the walls and tearing her soul apart with her bare hands and making sure that her favourite colour was splashed against the walls in passion.      Instead, she stands up, her dry lips and turns towards the girl next to her.      She’s still kneeling, and she had to turn away again be

I never understood the obsession with kisses, until your lips became my addiction.