Each day, we wake slightly altered, and the person we were yesterday is dead. So why, one could say, be afraid of death, when death comes all the time?
John Updike, Self-Consciousness (via squirrelfiend)
(Source: larmoyante, via squirrelfiend)
When he says
He doesn’t love you anymore,
Roll your shoulders back
And look him in the eye
And ask him why he didn’t leave you sooner.
Tell him that there are boys
Who would be proud to say they’d loved you.
Tell him that in two years
You won’t even remember his name
If he did not know how to love you the first time,
He won’t know how to do it the next.
from How To Pretend It Doesn’t Hurt, by Ashe Vernon (via aauroraskies)
(Source: latenightcornerstore, via itsabigayleidgaf)