petty therapy

It's better out, than in

332 notes

Everything in his life had come down to the sensation of her fingers against his. The person he was, the history he carried within himself, every joy and grief he had ever experienced, slipped way like an irrelevant garment. He was nothing but skin, speaking to another skin, and between the skins there was no need to find any words.
Kate Grenville, The Lieutenant (via fables-of-the-reconstruction)

(via fuckyeahexistentialism)