She was a genius of sadness, immersing herself in it, separating its numerous strands, appreciating its subtle nuances.
She was a prism through which sadness could be divided into its infinite spectrum.
me: *sleepy all day*
"We’re all kind of weird and twisted and drowning.”
— Haruki Murakami, Norwegian Wood (via winterkristall)
"I think too much. I think ahead. I think behind. I think sideways. I think it all. If it exists, I’ve fucking thought of it.”
Winona Ryder (via fuckinq)
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