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thoughts about the impermanence of a hook up written in permanent marker in the places he touched
by Lindsay Bottos
“fisches nachtgesang/fish’s night song” by christian morgenstern (1905) (+)
from the book “galgenlieder”
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People who are incredibly toxic will never realize their toxicity or how much of it they shove down your throat. They will think their toxicity is normal. That it is okay. That it is fine.
And that is scary.
There’s a rich emptiness to memories. Like visiting rooms in an abandoned Victorian house. There’s an echo in the empty rooms. Memories are echoes. They call out, as if drowning. A memory calls out, “rescue me.
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— Olivia Dresher, Mood And Memory Fragments (via c-ovet)
#427 Fibonacci’s left eye – A new minimal geometric composition each day
On many counts, taking a boy like Rudy was robbery—so much life, so much to live for—yet somehow, I’m certain he would have loved to see the frightening rubble and the swelling of the sky on the night he passed away. He’d have cried and turned and smiled if only he could have seen the book thief on her hands and knees, next to his decimated body. He’d have been glad to witness her kissing his dusty, bomb-hit lips. Yes, I know it. In the darkness of my dark-beating heart, I know. He’d have loved it, all right. You see? Even death has a heart.
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— Death from ‘The Book Thief’ by Markus Zusak
Character is destiny.
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