“If you said you missed me,” she says, “and I told you I missed you too, do you think we could do it over?” “We could relearn each other’s names and I could tell you about my childhood. You could get bored of my stories all over again and I could get mad like I always used to.” “And I’m not saying we’d work.” She murmurs, “I know that we probably won’t.” “But logic doesn’t mean I don’t miss you,” she says. “And right now I don’t give a damn about what logic has to say. Just tell me you miss me and I swear I’ll come running. Tell me you miss me and we can fall all over again.”

S.Z. // Excerpt from a book I’ll never write #124 (via blossomfully)

Of course I’ll hurt you. Of course you’ll hurt me. Of course we will hurt each other. But this is the very condition of existence. To become spring, means accepting the risk of winter. To become presence, means accepting the risk of absence.

The Little Prince  (via bl-ossomed)

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rpgdennis

I JUST WANT CUDDLING THAT INCLUDES SLEEPY KISSES AND WATCHING MOVIES AND FALLING ASLEEP ALL TANGLED UP TOGETHER ON THE COUCH OKAY I DON’T SEE WHY THAT’S TOO MUCH TO ASK