“But, like ivy, we grow where there is room for us.”

I think of you in a dark room. The moon is shining through my open window and the light seems abrasive, almost unsettling; it makes me squint as if it were sunlight in August and for some reason I am reminded of your smile, the way your hair fell in your face. I find myself missing you but I remember it’s not you I miss; you haven’t been you in a long time, no you’ll never be the one I loved ever again. The thought saddens me - it makes me think of the bitterness of the world and how those horrible thoughts seem to linger in my senses the way a pill lingers bitterly on your tongue, dissolving slowly, never fully going away.

"Violence does not always take visible form, and not all wounds gush blood.”
— Haruki Murakami, 1Q84 (via sukmun)