Im So Afraid Of Losing Something I Love That I Refuse To Love Anything.

I’m so afraid of losing something I love that I refuse to love anything.

Jonathan Safran Foer, Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close (via wordsnquotes)

She wasn’t lonely, she told herself. Over and over again. The loss of her companions was something natural, a part of life. She had seen many deaths in her time. Many battles, a lot of loss, and oh so many, who would never return to their loved ones.

She had always felt sympathy for those mourning. But never would she have expected, now that it had happened to her, for it to be so burning, so fierce and sharp, so lasting and exhausting; robbing her of her will to go on, to keep wandering the earth, how her companions and her had promised each other so many years ago.

But they had promised after all; promised to keep traveling, and help whoever needed aid on their journey, even if but one was left of their guild. And so she continued on, even though they had assisted so many villages already, even though they had given their last possessions to the poor so many times already, even though so many of them had breathed their last breath in service to strangers already ... and so many of them had forsaken their vow already.

No, she would not waver, and she would not falter. She would stay true to their promise. Because she knew, even if they weren’t by her side any longer, her companions were still counting on her.

Her gaze drifted over the cold, white wasteland. In the mountains, from which she had emerged from only days before, she had found a small assembly of people. Having heard of her guild’s vow to help whenever and whoever they could, they had pleaded to her. Their kingdom had been surrounded by vile creatures, spawns of the night seeking nothing but death and destruction. They had managed to flee, but many other were still trapped inside the castle walls.

Not too far off, she could indeed make out the remains of a castle and its surrounding town. However, in ruins and engulfed by smoke; the wind carrying the stench of burned flesh. The creatures must have set fire to the town, having given up breaching through the castle gates to reach their victims.

She had been too late to save the people. But she would not be too late to hunt the creatures down, and slaughter every single one of them. Her snow owl screeched as it flew off ahead to search for their prey from far above. They must have quite a head-start, but she would catch up to them quickly. She was the best huntress, after all, and once she had decided on her prey, nothing could escape her grasp. She might not be able to bring relieve and joy back to the group hiding in the mountains, but at the least she could bring them the message that she had avenged their fallen.

And so she headed off, following the path her owl had taken, following through on her promise from that fateful night, and kept going until her legs would give out underneath her and she could keep on no longer.

(via ArtStation - Armoured knight female, seunghee lee)

The freedom to see the story in a way only you can, makes you relate to it better. You feel like you actually live the story because it is filled with your imagination as well. A visual picture already tells us how exactly something or someone looks, instead of letting us decide on the finer details, therefor, taking this freedom from us.

Another reason to always love books.

No matter how many movies I’ve watched, how many series I’ve seen or how many games I’ve played.

The best way to experience a story is still reading a book. Laying down in bed, a lamp behind you and the book in your hands. The smell of ink and paper mingling with the sound of turning the page, the sensation of the weight in your hands and the pictures the letters paint into your head and only yours. Knowing that no one else will experience the story the way you do.

The referee said the wrestling match is over. Get off, lady; don’t make him break another one of his arms.

someone who’s never seen durarara explain this

Sometimes ... it’s not for the pain.

Sometimes ... it’s not because it’s the only way to feel alive.

Sometimes ... it’s just to see the red flowing from your arm. To feel the sharpness of the blade, see how easily it cuts, how easily it could be to vanish; even just as a taste. After a long day of everyone around you calling you pathetic and small and harmless and innocent and ignorant and weak, to know that, in the end, you can still hurt someone.

Even if that someone is you.

That moment when you simply want to cut because you want to. No real reason, you just want to.