sometimes we kiss, cos it's nice to be kissed, a hand through your hair, the small of your back, stuttered breaths and fingertips, is there nothing as pure as an innocent kiss?, just for the feeling of knowing that someone would kiss you if you asked them to, but when i kiss you something moves, in the pit of my stomach, eyes stay closed, and this kiss, this innocence, flashes brilliance, so kiss me once more, and just so you know, i would kiss you, if you asked me to.. the "small" part might be a typo, meaning "smell", but i like small too.. the small of the back is a good part of the back. that poem written by a shareboardian named jason is still taped next to the roses on my wall that i don't know why i have hanging anymore. why do girls keep their roses? a lot of my room is just kept up because there's nothing new to put up, even though there have been new things recently and they've replaced old things, instead of covered them up like i did with so many shareboard poems that used to be up.. so that once you could peal back layers of my room and reveal the me's of the past. they were all me.

always quit before you think it's time to quit.