She was every sea in which he had swum; and she was every storm that had rained on him. She was the wind on his face, and every laugh that had warmed his soul on rainy Sunday afternoons. She was the Sun that his planet rotated around, and she was every book he had read. She was every person he had ever loved and she was every person he had ever hated. She was everything, and she was nothing. But she was always free.
A.M (via 92planetas)
















