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notadoctor · 3 years
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I don’t hate “Love”, i just hate the people I love. Does that even make sense?
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notadoctor · 3 years
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notadoctor · 3 years
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Is it just me or everyone’s handwriting changes with their mood?
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notadoctor · 3 years
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“All of a sudden two decades have passed and you still have not kissed anyone with tongue, or kissed anyone at all for that matter, or had a 3 AM conversation with someone who would rather look into your eyes for ten minutes straight than talk. You have never worn a lover’s sweater or “forgotten” it at home in your bedroom just so you would have an excuse to see them again. You have never even stood face-to-face with someone who makes your hands shake so hard it feels like they’re both having a separate anxiety attack. This causes you much guilt and self-blame and sadness but above all, an overwhelming curiosity. Are you really that ugly, that unwanted, that uninteresting, that boring, that no one, absolutely no one, has ever looked at you like the only thing on earth? The answer is no. The better answer is that someone out there, somewhere in the world, is “wondering what it’s like to meet someone like you,” and they have two decades worth of love stored in their veins like a shoot-‘em-up drug, and they’re just about ready to inject it into someone else’s bloodstream. All you have to do is roll up your sleeves and wait for it to happen. At times you felt so lonely you could stand at the edge of a cliff with nothing beneath you but air and grass and a long, long way down, and you’d still feel emptier than that canyon itself. Maybe you even danced with yourself alone in your room a few times, arms outstretched around a ghost, pretending someone else’s hands were on your waist, someone else’s eyes boring into yours. Or maybe you fell temporarily in love with strangers on public transportation, fell in love with anybody who so much as accidentally brushed your hand on the way past. For you, falling in love with dozens of people a day was a coping mechanism for not having anyone to love you in return. But people are not eggs and falling in love with a dozen of them does not mean your shell will remain uncracked. One day you’re going to hit the point where you’re so desperate for human contact that you’re going to snap in half and all your love will bleed out like egg yolk. But someone out there is eating a bowl of Ramen noodles right now, or putting on slippers, or settling into bed. They are doing all the normal things that you’ve done in your own life. They are just like you. They have cellulite and extra fat in all the wrong places and goals and fears and doubts and bad handwriting. The truth is that they are just like you, and being just like you, they’re looking for a lover too. They’re what you might call a soulmate. They think they’re all alone in feeling the way they do, but you’re really both two halves of a whole. And one day you’ll meet them, bump into them on the street, and your two halves will be put together, and you’ll make one.”
— Writings For Winter - For Twenty Year-Olds who have never been loved  (via beepboopboopbeep)
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notadoctor · 3 years
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Markus Zusak, The Book Thief (2004).
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notadoctor · 3 years
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What is it about translation that makes you literally incapable of phrasing things naturally in your own language
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notadoctor · 3 years
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Bridges that last for a long time,
Their cracks hold fear.
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notadoctor · 3 years
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A mouth in the sky showing its bright white teeth. Why are you not smiling while looking at the moon?
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notadoctor · 3 years
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Finished reading this classic. Felt the need to appreciate Brontë for giving us the most realistic characters of all time. Nelly Dean and Lockwood are so fuckin real I simply cannot! Also the sheer power of the lines “You said I killed you-haunt me, then!” And then she does! What a G!
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notadoctor · 3 years
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What’s your spirit plant and why?
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notadoctor · 3 years
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“Despite what you’ve read, your sadness is not beautiful. No one will see you in the bookstore, curled up with your Bukowski, and want to save you. Stop waiting for a salvation that will not come from the grey-eyed boy looking for an annotated copy of Shakespeare, for an end to your sadness in Keats. He coughed up his lungs at 25, and flowery words cannot conceal a life barely lived. Your life is fragile, just beginning, teetering on the violent edge of the world. Your sadness will bury you alive, and you are the only one who can shovel your way out with hardened hands and ragged fingernails, bleeding your despair into the unforgiving earth. Darling, you see, no heroes are coming for you. Grab your sword, and don your own armor.”
— (via starredsoul)
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notadoctor · 3 years
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It’s dangerous to find beauty in ordinary things. You can fall in love with a colourful sunset and it will make sense but what do you do when someone keeps their hand on knee a certain way and suddenly they are beautiful.
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notadoctor · 3 years
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— Fredrik Backman, Us Against You
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notadoctor · 3 years
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I wish I could read without losing time. I want to live as much as I want to read.
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notadoctor · 3 years
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Poetry and rain are like two lovers holding hands.
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notadoctor · 3 years
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That empty feeling that we carry inside. The one that grows and makes you wanna run away but where do you go when you are running from home? And so you deactivate your social media and pretend that you ran away from the world but you are still here, i am still here and we are still here.
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notadoctor · 3 years
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Today, I want to be fearless. I am gonna wear my laciest bra and I will wear it like an armour.
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