November 2011
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like a spider or a snake, moulting, wondering if people ever truly feel at home if strangers stop feeling strange and alone or if they just pretend to have settled on a skin or if they let their hearts and walls wear thin hissing “everything I’ve done can be erased, I’ve no more layers in me left to waste, and I’ve run out of thread to spin.”
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As with many beautiful teenage girls, her expression lacked any trace of...
– Haruki Murakami, 1Q84 (43)
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A glint in your eye. A satellite. A sweetheart
there is no other street. A...
– Kimberly Grey, Another Love Story (via grammatolatry)