Where exactly do you put your hands on somebody who hurts everywhere?
— Charles D’Ambrosio, The Dead Fish Museum: Stories (via larmoyante)
If people could see me the way I see myself - if they could live in my memories - would anyone love me?
— John Green, An Abundance of Katherines (via dissapolnted)
I feel like ripping apart my skin,
and searching for a reason for why
I feel this empty.
Maybe my veins are tangled,
or something is lodged
in my ribcage.
Because it feels like
something inside of me is
missing or broken.
— Unknown (via skeezd)