l'abus des bonnes choses
POUR LES GRANDS MAUX, LES GRANDS REMÈDES.
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And when at last you find someone to whom you feel you can pour out your soul, you stop in shock at the words you utter— they are so rusty, so ugly, so meaningless and feeble from being kept in the small cramped dark inside you so long.
~
Sylvia Plath
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who cares what tomorrow brings if it can’t make sense of you and me
26.05.12
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andbamnan