He would wake from sleep to miss the weight that never depressed the bed next to him, remember in earnest the weight of gestures she never made, long for the un-weight of her un-arm slung over his too real chest.
― Jonathan Safran Foer,
Everything Is Illuminated (via
larmoyante)
I would rather die of passion than of boredom.
I wrote a poem about it, and then threw it away, because that’s the last thing I need right now: More words dedicated to people who will never dedicate a single thing to me.
Loneliness adds beauty to life. It puts a special burn on sunsets and makes night air smell better.
Be merciful until you can’t be.
Until you feel your heart begin to harden
into a bullet.
Then use that bullet.
― Clementine von Radics (via
shalott)
