I began to draw an invisible boundary between myself and other people. No matter who I was dealing with. I maintained a set distance, carefully monitoring the person's attitude so that they wouldn't get any closer. I didn't easily swallow what other people told me. My only passions were books and music.
— Haruki Murakami, Sputnik Sweetheart
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quaint lump goes the mile...
[x]
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Maybe the two different worlds we lived in weren't so different. We saw the same sunset.
-- S. E. Hinton
(Roma)
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Ada Limón, from Lucky Wreck; “The different ways of going”
[Text ID: “This weather makes me wonder how many hands I’ve held. / I’ll never see you again, but that’s a note I tear up in my mind.”]
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as Simone Weil said, 'Let us love this distance, since those who do not love each other are not separated.'
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the days of burning, and silence, and distance.
Denise Levertov, Here and Now; from 'The Bird’
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Choose your distance or choose your nearness, and my soul will abide, but choose wisely. Many times there is no coming back.
e.v.e.
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There is no distance too far between souls that share a deep connection.
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I don’t talk about how your mother’s name still pops up as a recent contact on Facebook messenger. I don’t talk about how the Christmas tree I bought stands tall in your apartment as a pyre, burning in warm light. I don’t talk about the one-worded replies, the corners of my bedroom you still haunt. I don’t talk about how I will always feel a mother to your dogs. I don’t talk about the plushies won at an arcade sitting in the back window of my car, the Polaroid of us shoved out of sight into the center console. I don’t talk about the bathroom door and the violence it has seen. I don’t talk about my dreams and your hair knotted in my fists like a lifeline, raw desperation to hold on. I don’t talk about how my number in your phone still bears the nickname you gave me. I don’t talk about the wailing my favorite stuffed animal has witnessed. I don’t think about how years and years of love and living can be shrunk down to fit in the palm of my hand, how it has morphed from soft cotton to a shard of glass. I don’t talk about the matching necklaces still hanging on the curtain rod in your bedroom. I don’t talk about one of two identical sweaters hanging deep in the back of my closet. I don’t talk about my mom still buying your dogs presents, my grandparents holding on to a Christmas card for you.
I don’t talk about the ache of loss in my chest but god, is it there. It is there.
WHAT I DON'T TALK ABOUT (AND OTHER LIES) // Haley Hendrick
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Eternity is a glorious word, but eternity is ice.
-- Dejan Stojanovic
(Sölden, Austria)
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We are connected no matter what the distance. That is true closeness. That is true connection.
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