i really love when a character, calmly and completely earnestly, is like i’m not important, i’m no one really, just a blade that people use and throw away. no one remembers me for long after i leave their life. and then you look at the evidence and it turns out that every person who meets them becomes permanently obsessed with them, for better and for worse, and the character has somehow completely missed this fact

Isabel Allende, The House of the Spirits

The hypocrisy of being human; the constant tug between solitude and company, the desire to love so desperately and simultaneously be detached from it all, of wanting everything and wanting nothing.

—mattmurdock-gf on Tumblr

tales from another mystic vision

how terrible it is

to love something death can touch