❝I was inside you. You contained me. Imprisoned in each other, we were free. You had crept along my blood vessels through the wound, and the blood that circulates returns to the heart. You circulated me, you made me blush like a girl in the hoop of your hands. You were in my arteries and my lymph, you were the colours just under my skin, and If I cut myself, it was you I bled. Red me, alive on my fingers, and always the force of blood pushing you back to my heart.



— Jeanette Winterson, Lighthousekeeping
(via 89words)
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