thoughts-between-coffees

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— Greg Santora (via letsbelonelytogetherr)

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“people always say that it hurts at night and apparently screaming into your pillow at 3am is the romantic equivalent of being heartbroken. but sometimes it’s 9am on a tuesday morning and you’re standing at the kitchen bench waiting for the toast to pop up and the smell of dusty sunlight and earl gray tea makes you miss him so much you don’t know what to do with your hands.”

– rosie scanlan, on missing them (via letsbelonelytogetherr)

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Even in sleep, I search for you—not as a memory, but because only in my dreams do you dare to love me.

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i am not dramatic—i am dissolving

@kameneva

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— @eternaldroplets on x (via letsbelonelytogetherr)

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i’m tired. but not just “didn’t sleep” tired. soul tired. bone tired. like my body keeps going but nothing inside knows why.

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We started out as strangers, now we're strangers again. The things I love about you, I'm supposed to forget. And every time I think about you, it don't make any sense.

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from Franz Kafka's "Letters to Felice"

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I miss you in quiet ways—in skipped songs, in sunsets that don’t feel right, in jokes I can't tell anyone else.

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via weheartit

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— Franz Kafka (via letsbelonelytogetherr)

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I recently read somewhere ‘there is a lot of intimacy in never speaking again’ Since when did distance start masquerading as depth? If I saw them again, the silence would scream. Eyes would flicker, not with warmth, but with the weight of everything buried. We wouldn’t need words, no—but not because of intimacy. Because there’s too much to say, and too little courage left to say it.