"I just hope that one day—preferably when we’re both blind drunk—we can talk about it."
— J.D. Salinger (via bl-ossomed)

(Source: orsomethinglikethatreally)

sierrademulder:

Does it die like humans do? Does it slowly
wither and wilt, while it’s own organs begin

to betray it? Or, is it more like a gunshot?

A quick darkening? Where does it go?
Is there a heaven for love? Does it slip

through some invisible drain in our chest?

Does it, like water, just…

"I feel like I’ve swallowed a cloudy sky"
— Haruki Murakami (via weaverofstars)

(Source: infidelium)

"But in love, there is no bigger picture. There is only the thing that happened, and how much it hurts, and how it ripples through the rest of the love you experience. I’m sure there are still days in which the last waves of what we had radiate through your most happy, placid moments. I’m sure they still have the ability to take root somewhere and rot out your complacency."
— I Wish You Would Stay, But I Know That You Won’t - Chelsea Fagan - Thought Catalog
"My love for you is slowly plummeting into the ground. And by this point, I don’t think there is anything that either of us can do to stop it."
— Small conversations, #23 (via mostlyfiction)
"'Was it hard?' I ask. 'Letting go?'
‘Not as hard as holding on to something that wasn’t real.’"
— Lisa Schroeder (via observando)
"Every lover is a storm chaser.
Every good heart has lost it’s roof."
— Andrea Gibson
"The word love is bitter on my tongue, something I can’t swallow or spit out."
"I thought: please don’t grow
familiar. I think I said it out loud:
Please don’t let me love you
that horrible way."
— Olena Kalytiak Davis, And Her Soul Out Of Nothing (via splitterherzen)