“Franz Kafka is Dead

He died in a tree from which he wouldn’t come down. “Come down!” they cried to him. “Come down! Come down!” Silence filled the night, and the night filled the silence, while they waited for Kafka to speak. “I can’t,” he finally said, with a note of wistfulness. “Why?” they cried. Stars spilled across the black sky. “Because then you’ll stop asking for me.””
— Nicole Krauss, The History of Love (via larmoyante)

(via rustyvoices)

"I had a dream the other night about how we only get one life. Woke me up right after two, stayed awake and stared at you, so I wouldn’t lose my mind."

“If you think I miss you,
that I stay inside,
lay in bed and cry,
questioning the end and
asking myself why,
If you think I’m worried I lost a dime,
in a sea full of quarters with
much better shine,
If you think I’m fretting over
running out of time,
Remember who I am,
and remember to think twice, because
If you thought this was your chance at
being the heartbreaker,
you’re out of your goddamn mind.”
Kayla Kathawa - you can’t break my heart. (via ninakathawa)

(via rustyvoices)

fleur-issant:

sonder
n. the realization that each random passerby is living a life as vivid and complex as your own—populated with their own ambitions, friends, routines, worries and inherited craziness—an epic story that continues invisibly around you like an anthill sprawling deep underground, with elaborate passageways to thousands of other lives that you’ll never know existed, in which you might appear only once, as an extra sipping coffee in the background, as a blur of traffic passing on the highway, as a lighted window at dusk.

(via rustyvoices)