I hate you so, but I love you more.

I felt like crying but nothing came out. It was just a sort of sad sickness, sick sad, when you can’t feel any worse. I think you know it. I think everybody knows it now and then. But I think I have known it pretty often, too often.
━ Charles Bukowski (via saddest-summer)
soulist-aurora:

Sleepless In Seattle, 1993Destiny is something we’ve invented because we can’t stand the fact that everything that happens is accidental-