“i think the loneliest people are the ones who write of love;
fabricating emotions they do not feel,
and depicting endless detail of that special someone,
but with no particular person in mind.”—Unknown (via sensibilitaet)
“The best thing about the bedroom was the bed. I liked to stay in bed for hours, even during the day with covers pulled up to my chin. It was good in there, nothing ever occurred in there, no people, nothing.”—Charles Bukowski (via felicefawn)
“We met at the wrong time. That’s what I keep telling myself anyway. Maybe one day years from now, we’ll meet in a coffee shop in a far away city somewhere and we could give it another shot.”—Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind (via lullabysounds)
“I wish you were here.
Autumn is the hardest season;
the leaves are all falling
and they’re falling like they’re falling in love with the ground,
and the trees are naked and lonely.
I keep trying to tell them
new leaves will come around in the spring,
but you can’t tell trees those things.
They’re like me, they just stand there
and don’t listen.
I wish you were here.”—Photograph // Andrea Gibson (via expectimperfection)
“That missing thing, nostalgia and all of that… that’s a balsam. You don’t miss a country. You miss your neighbourhood in any case, but you also miss it if you move ten blocks away.
People who feel patriotic, people who think they belong to a country are mental morons. Homeland is an invention. Stadistics. Numbers without faces. One belongs to a few people. YOUR COUNTRY ARE YOUR FRIENDS, AND THAT’S WHAT YOU MISS.”—Martín Hache (via marla-black)