Whenever someone who knows you disappears, you lose one version of yourself. Yourself as you were seen, as you were judged to be. Lover or enemy, mother or friend, those who know us construct us, and their several knowings slant the different facets of our characters like diamond-cutter’s tools. Each such loss is a step leading to the grave, where all versions blend and end.
Salman Rushdie, The Ground Beneath Her Feet (via liquidnight) Thankyouthankyouthankyou for reminding me one of the reasons I like tumblr so much. It’s so easy to find feelings and thoughts, dreams and fears that are hard to articulate on here, written beautifully and simply.