I can’t live without her (…) I couldn’t live with her either.
Franz Kafka, from The Diaries of Franz Kafka 1910-1923; “February 14, 1914”
There's a sort of goodbye that comes with 17.
All questions of 'who do you want to be when you grow up' turn to 'who are you becoming now?' 17 is young, 17 is old. It's everything you wanted. It's everything you despised. It's messy and ruthless and full of grief at times. And 17 is scary as hell because now you know that you finally have to say goodbye to childhood.
-Ritika Jyala, excerpt from The Flesh I Burned (source)
I say I'm okay and I am okay.. but some evenings I barely move from the chair and some mornings I skip breakfast and don't open your texts. I say I'm okay and I am okay but some nights my hands shake when I think of getting up the next morning.
-Ritika Jyala, excerpt from Elle took a knife and carved her thighs
It must have been impossible to insult Kafka. Like, imagine that you call him an insufferable asshole and he just agrees with you. And then he would write in his diary about it.
February 15th I know I am the most insufferable of humans. Horrible. No sleep. Awful.
when the stars wrote back by trista mateer
― David Foster Wallace, Consider the Lobster and Other Essays
June 25th. I sent another message just to unsend it 2 seconds later. My best friend asked me how I was today and I said 'I'm fine', what word can I use to define what I feel? What language burns in melancholy and drowns in loneliness only to go sleep with grief?
It's not so dramatic really. But it is.
it's a different kind of intimacy when you can tell that someone isn't feeling well while they're doing everything to hide their sadness. they become so familiar, you know their inside so well that their pain is seen by you, and most importantly safe with you
“Anybody can look at you. It’s quite rare to find someone who sees the same world you see.”
— John Green, Turtles All the Way Down
“Wasn’t friendship its own miracle, the finding of another person who made the entire lonely world seem somehow less lonely? Wasn’t this house, this beauty, this comfort, this life a miracle?”
— Hanya Yanagihara, from A Little Life