It’s come to my attention over the last few months that a handful of readers make a practice of reading between the lines of my posts. I get it. We live in the information age where surface knowledge of a thing is never enough. It’s not enough to read my most intimate thoughts (which I obviously don’t mind, otherwise I wouldn’t share them), you also have to know the who/what/when/where/why. Continue reading
Remember when I turned 30 last year? When I waxed poetic about the lessons I’d learned in my 20s and how I looked forward to life with more confidence, (and thanks to my new gig) more money, and more adventure?
Do you want to know what 30 had to say that?
Do you know what 30 was?
You need to be kissed.
You can vividly recall the last time you were fucked. When was the last time someone feasted upon your lips?
Can you remember the last time a warm palm caressed your cheek? When fingertips last grazed lazily over your frame? When a tongue glided aimlessly over your skin with no destination in mind? When someone last recognized your fragrance as home?