You were better to the ones that were worse for you. And worse to the one that was better for you.
I Wrote This For You
Reading is the sole means by which we slip, involuntarily, often helplessly, into another’s skin, another’s voice, another’s soul.
Joyce Carol Oates (via
Well, let it pass, he thought; April is over, April is over.
There are all kinds of love in the world, but never the same love twice.
F. Scott Fitzgerald, The Short Stories, “The Sensible Thing” (via