(Source: lovelybelieve, via imagineclouds)
It’s the tragedy of loving, you can’t love anything more than something you miss.
Jonathan Safran Foer, Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close (via nostalgiache)
(Source: fyodor-dont-stoyevsky, via fl0at-on-anyway)
It’s a strange thing, how you can love somebody, how you can be all eaten up inside with needing them – and they simply don’t need you. That’s all there is to it, and neither of you can do anything about it. And they’ll be the same way with someone else, and someone else will be the same way about you and it goes on and on – this desperate need – and only once in a rare million do the same two people need each other.
Madeleine L’Engle (via vagina-kicking)
(Source: venula, via fl0at-on-anyway)
All any of us wanted, really, was to know that we counted. That someone else’s life would not have been as rich without us here.
Jodi Picoult (Handle With Care)
(Source: timeslippedaway, via fl0at-on-anyway)
It’s a strange thing, how you can love somebody, how you can be all eaten up inside with needing them—and they simply don’t need you. That’s all there is to it, and neither of you can do anything about it. And they’ll be the same way with someone else, and someone else will be the same way about you and it goes on and on—this desperate need—and only once in a rare million do the same two people need each other.
Madeleine L’Engle (via anditslove)
(Source: skeletales, via fl0at-on-anyway)
The best things in life: Accidentally overhearing someone say something nice about you, waking up and realizing you still have a few hours left to sleep, first kisses, making new friends and spending time with the old ones, singing in the bathroom, sweet dreams, hot chocolate, making brownies and cookies, holding hands with someone you care about, watching a sunset, sleeping in, taking long hot showers, and knowing that somebody misses you.
(via wordsandlyrics)
(Source: thelovewhisperer, via fl0at-on-anyway)
I wanted to tell her everything, maybe if I’d been able to, we could have lived differently, maybe I’d be there with you now instead of here. Maybe… if I’d said, ‘I’m so afraid of losing something I love that I refuse to love anything,’ maybe that would have made the impossible possible. Maybe, but I couldn’t do it, I had buried too much too deeply inside me. And here I am, instead of there.
Jonathan Safran Foer (via yunzi)
(via fl0at-on-anyway)
For some, they think that letting go is one way of expressing how much you love the person. Most relationships tend to fail. Not because the absence of love. Love is always present. It’s just that one was being loved too much and the other wasn’t being loved enough.
(via xrestyourbonesx3)
(Source: thelovewhisperer, via fl0at-on-anyway)
We all need someone to look at us. We can be divided into four categories according to the kind of look we wish to live under: The first category longs for the look of an infinite number of anonymous eyes, in other words, for the look of the public. The second category is made up of people who have a vital need to be looked at by many known eyes. They are the tireless hosts of cocktail parties and dinners. They are happier than the people in the first category, who, when they lose their public, have the feeling that the lights have gone out in the room of their lives. This happens to nearly all of them sooner or later. people in the second category, on the other hand, can always come up with the eyes they need. Then there is the third category, the category of people who need to be constantly before the eyes of the person they love. Their situation is as dangerous as the situation of people in the first category. One day the eyes of their beloved will close, and the room will go dark. And finally there is the fourth category, the rarest, the category of people who live in the imaginary eyes of those who are not present — they are the dreamers.
Milan Kundera (via xrestyourbonesx3)
(Source: iloveyoursoul, via fl0at-on-anyway)
I love you because the entire universe conspired to help me find you.
Paulo Coelho, The Alchemist (via whitemarch)
(Source: decrepito, via thisistheendlove)
