Even if we hadn’t met that day, my life might not have been any different. We were supposed to meet. If not then, some other time. I didn’t have any basis for thinking this: it was just a feeling.
It feels good to think about you when I’m warm in bed. I feel as if you’re curled up there beside me, fast asleep. And I think how great it would be if it were true.
I have a million things to talk to you about. All I want in this world is you. I want to see you and talk. I want the two of us to begin everything from the beginning.
I tried hard to forget, but there remained inside me a vague knot of air. And as time went by, the knot began to take on a clear and simple form, a form that I am able to put into words, like this: Death exists, not as the opposite but as a part of life.
What do they think I am, a donkey pulling a cart?… I can be hurt, you know. I can get as exhausted as anybody else. I can feel so bad I want to cry, too.
“
—
Midori, from Haruki Murakami’s Norwegian Wood (via dilmfirector)
“I hope all rapists go to jail for the rest of their lives!”
“and then when they get to jail they get raped everyday so they have a taste of their own medicine!”
Why shouldn’t they feel what their victims felt? Why are you defending a man who sexually forced himself on someone weaker than him wtf is wrong with you people
SURPRISINGLY BECAUSE I DONT FUCKIGN WISH RAPE ON PEOPLE
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