He knew that there was passion there, but there was no shadow of it in her eyes or on her mouth; there was a faint spray of champagne on her breath. She clung nearer desperately and once more he kissed her and was chilled by the innocence of her kiss, by the glance that at the moment of contact looked beyond him out into the darkness of the night, the darkness of the world.
F. Scott Fitzgerald, Tender is the Night (via petrichour)
Angry, and half in love with you, and tremendously sorry, I turned away.
Maybe we choose to stay in a constant state of ignorance as a protective instinct — maybe I was just in denial. I just don’t get how you can be completely in love with someone one day, and then all of a sudden you just aren’t. I will never forget that day…the day where I became numb.
What is family? They were the people who claimed you. In good, in bad, in parts or in whole, they were the ones who showed up, who stayed there, regardless.
You do this, you do.
You take the things you love and tear them apart
or you pin them down with your body and pretend they’re yours.
What becomes of the mind if it is utterly free? If it is not bound to absolutes, but the consistency of you, which strives for pillars of definition as truth. For example, if people with schizophrenics, psychosis, and Alzheimer’s consciousness exist then what is to say their…
When they are alone they want to be with others, and when they are with others they want to be alone. After all, human beings are like that.
Not even one’s own pain weighs so heavy as the pain one feels with someone, for someone, a pain intensified by the imagination and prolonged by a hundred echoes.