I hated you for a long time. From the time I was little, I used to think that I didn't belong in such a miserable little place, that I was someone who deserved to be in more comfortable circumstances. I felt it was unfair for you to treat me as you did. My classmates all seemed to be living happy, satisfying lives. Kids whose gifts and talents were far inferior to mine were having much kore fun than I was every day. I used to seriously wish that you were not my father. I imagined that this had to he some mistake; you couldn't possibly be my real father; there couldn't be any blood relationship.
—Tengo
Haruki Murakami, 1Q84, Book 2
I reread our texts. I cry to the words that made me laugh.
I hold onto to my crumbling self, as it drifts apart in your memories.
When Nachiketa said, "Tumi ashbe bolei akash meghla, brishti ekhono hoyeni. Tumi ashbe bolei krishnochura r phool gulo jhore jayeni"
And when Mahtim Shakib said, "Tumi brishti cheyecho bole, koto megher bhengechi mon. Ami nijer bolte, tomaye cheyechi"
And when Anjan Dutt said, "Raasta r koto soshta hotel e, boddho cabin e bondhi dujone, rudroshash koto protikkha"
Somehow, inherently, we have all lost someone we loved.
It was just a good joint, good conversations and a good fuck
Then why did my inner child feel safe with you?
You were holding my heart in the palms of your hand. You could have been gentle yet you decided to crush it.
He's obsessed with her body right now. She likes him like this—kissing every part of her like he's deriving life force from it.
—When I am with you, Durjoy Datta.
I often sleep to avoid my feelings
Because night time is my worst time
And 2am is getting dangerous.
Love can't cure a mental illness.
— Heartstopper, Alice Oseman
You are my favorite person Dumbass
“She made you decent, and in return you made her so happy”
—One Day
Why do people have to be this lonely? What’s the point of it all? Millions of people in this world, all of them yearning, looking to others to satisfy them, yet isolating themselves. Why? Was the earth put here just to nourish human loneliness?
— Haruki Murakami, Sputnik Sweetheart