I can’t see, I don’t exist, but I want the shape of my heart to remain.
— 有村竜太郎 (via vanityem)
Love never dies a natural death. It dies because we don’t know how to replenish it’s source. It dies of blindness and errors and betrayals. It dies of illness and wounds; it dies of weariness, of witherings, of tarnishings.
— Anais Nin (via kari-shma)


