— Rebecca Stead, When You Reach Me (via blackbruise)
— Joan Bauer (via rampias)
Forever trying to find that balance between hoping too little and too much, between being too much of a dreamer and too much of a realist, between being too distant and too attached. I don’t know where that fine line is, so if you find it let me know.
To them, I was physically present. But I wasn’t. I was but a distant star, burnt out, disintegrated from the collision of meteors unknown. And all that was left of me, was starlight, an illusion that I was really there.
I’ve got a bad case of the 3:00 am guilts - you know, when you lie in bed awake and replay all those things you didn’t do right? Because, as we all know, nothing solves insomnia like a nice warm glass of regret, depression and self-loathing.
— D.D. Barant, Dying Bites.