source:
larmoyante
larmoyante
"He loved her in a subtle kind of way. It wasn’t the kind of love you see in movies, with swelling music and giant gestures and running through the streets to catch a departing train. It wasn’t the kind of love that Byron or Shakespeare wrote about, with flowery language and hyperbole and iambic pentameter. It was still and deep, like water that you might mistake for shallow if you just watched the surface. It was entirely his, not dependent on her own feelings for him, and it would still be there whether she, or him, or everyone else on the world disappeared. It was a subtle kind of love, but it was true."
Jake Christie, Small Stories (via perfect)
(Source: larmoyante, via forever-without-you)
source:
keep-calm-stay-healthy
keep-calm-stay-healthy
nothing is worse than trying to get someone to understand a point you’re trying to make and they end up missing it by so fucking much like if their head was the sun the fucking point would be Pluto
source:
winterkristall
winterkristall
"But even so, every now and then I would feel a violent stab of loneliness. The very water I drink, the very air I breathe, would feel like long, sharp needles. The pages of a book in my hands would take on the threatening metallic gleam of razor blades. I could hear the roots of loneliness creeping through me when the world was hushed at four o’clock in the morning."
Haruki Murakami, The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle (via souls-entwined)
(Source: winterkristall, via forever-without-you)
