I was very far away. My real life had gone underground and could not be seen by anybody. The person at the surface that everybody saw was no longer me.
― Philip Ó Ceallaigh, “As I Sink Down” (via larmoyante)
But even so, every now and then I would feel a violent stab of loneliness. The very water I drink, the very air I breathe, would feel like long, sharp needles. The pages of a book in my hands would take on the threatening metallic gleam of razor blades. I could hear the roots of loneliness creeping through me when the world was hushed at four o’clock in the morning.
― Haruki Murakami, The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle (via larmoyante)
