❝Lately, though, in ways she couldn’t properly explain, things had begun to change. She woke at night sometimes with an inexplicable tugging in her soul; a desire, like hunger, but for what she couldn’t say. Dissatisfaction, longing, a deep and yawning absence, but no idea of how to fill it. No idea of what it was she missed.
21st May, Tuesday (12:26am) Reblog +
❝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 larmoyante)
IV.
You look like an electrical storm
waiting to happen.
There is thunder in the way
you crack your bones;
you only smile when it rains, and
I’ve finally figured out why. It’s
because there is lightning in you
and you’re bursting at the joints
to let it out.
20th May, Monday (6:40pm) Reblog +
