Elizabeth Strout | Olive Kitteridge
(via misiuq)
(Source: blogut, via me-mories)
The mind, or the heart, she didn’t know which one it was, but it was slower these days, not catching up, and she felt like a big, fat field mouse scrambling to get up on a ball that was right in front of her turning faster and faster, and she couldn’t get her scratchy frantic limbs up onto it.
You never really
know someone
until you’ve read
what they write
at 3 AM when
loneliness
consumes them
but does not
destroy them
this is beautiful.
(Source: sketzophrenia, via another-set-of-b0nes)