I would say we loved each other too much, too much. and I think we made the mistake of getting it right the first time. and that put an insane amount of pressure on us to keep it going. and we buckled. you know what I miss most about it, your smell. when you left I couldn’t wash the sheets because I didn’t wanna lose that completely, you. and it fucked me up for a long time because I would wake up and I’d smell you and I’d think you were there and my heart would break all over again.
– -Californication (via giveintomexoxo) Via not all those who wander are lostDear Karen,
If you’re reading this, it means I actually worked up the courage to mail it, so good for me. You don’t know me very well but if you get me started, I have a tendency to go on and on about how hard the writing is for me. But this, this is the hardest thing I’ve ever had to write. There’s no easy way to say this so I’ll just say it. I met someone. It was an accident, I wasn’t looking for it, I wasn’t on the make. It was a perfect storm. She said one thing, I said another. Next thing I knew I wanted to spend the rest of my life in the middle of that conversation. Now there’s this feeling in my gut: she might be The One. She’s completely nuts in a way that makes me smile, highly neurotic, a great deal of maintenance required. She is you, Karen. That’s the good news. The bad is that I don’t know how to be with you right now. And it scares the shit out of me. Because if I’m not with you right now, I have this feeling we’ll get lost out there. It’s a big, bad world full of twists and turns and people have a way of blinking and missing the moment, the moment that could have changed everything. I don’t know what’s going on with us, and I can’t tell you why you should waste a leap of faith on the likes of me. But damn, you smell good. Like home. And you make excellent coffee — that’s got to count for something, right? Call me.
Unfaithfully yours, Hank Moody
– Californication s02e10 (via virtualdrawer) Via virtual drawerA dor é uma coisa estranha. Um gato que mata um pássaro, um acidente de automóvel, um incêndio… A dor chega, BANG, e eis que ela te atinge. E real. E aos olhos de qualquer pessoas pareces um estúpido. Como se te tornasses, de repente, num idiota. E não há cura para isso, a menos que encontres alguém que compreenda o que sentes e te saiba ajudar.
Grande, magnífico, Bukowski.


