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traces of tears
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if memories could be canned, would they also have expiry dates? If so, I hope they last for centuries.    

like a mockingjay

















"Because I wanted you." He turned from the window to face me. "More than I ever wanted anything in my life," he added softly. “When I ask my Da how ye know which was the right woman, he told me when the time came, I’d have no doubt. And I didn’t. When I woke in the dark under that tree on the road to Leoch, with you sitting on my chest, cursing me for bleeding to death, I said to myself, ‘Jamie Fraser, for all ye canna see what she looks like, and for all she weighs as much as a good draft horse, this is the woman.’”

(…)

"Ye know," he observed, letting go at last, "you’ve never said it."
"Neither have you."
"I have. The day after we came. I said I wanted you more than anything."
"And I said that loving and wanting weren’t necessarily the same thing," I countered.
He laughed. "Perhaps you’re right, Sassenach."
He smoothed the hair from my face and kissed my brow. "I wanted ye from the first time I saw ye, but I loved ye when you wept in my arms and let me comfort you, that first time at Leoch." 









Let Me In
Grouplove

hold your breath, now there’s nothing left.









❝ Unhappiness. There are all kinds of unhappy people in the world. I suppose it would be no exaggeration to say that the world is composed entirely of unhappy people. But those people can fight their unhappiness with society fairly and squarly, and society for its part easily understands and sympathizes with such struggles. My unhappiness stemmed entirely from my own vices, and I had no way of fighting anybody.
No longer human, Osamu Dazai
































One of the first things they ask you in the ER is to rate your pain on a scale from 1 to 10. I’ve been asked this question hundreds of times and… I remember once, when I couldn’t catch my breath and I felt like my chest was on fire. The nurse asked me to rate the pain, though I couldn’t speak I held up nine fingers. Later, when I start to feeling better, the nurse came in and she called me a fighter. "You know how I know?" she said, "you called a 10 a 9." But that wasn’t the truth. I didn’t called it a 9 ‘cause I was brave. The reason I called it a 9 was because I was saving my 10.

And this was it. This was the great and terrible 10. 

















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