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149.

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How long will I miss you? Only He knows.

Credits to Gemma Troy on Instagram (@gemmatroypoetry).

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147.

“My father didn’t cry, but he said that seeing me on the floor like that was the most horrible thing that’s ever happened to him. Then he described how he’d made these tourniquets using some torn-up sheets from my bed and held me until the paramedics got there. He said he kept telling me how much he loved me, over and over, in case hearing it helped me stay alive.”

— Michael Thomas Ford’s Suicide Notes (p67)

116.

A personal book review written for a book loved much.

Tell me if you have ever thought of that one stranger, or many more. Remembered the curve of their smile or the flecks of light in their eyes.

I have, and I know what it means to lie awake wondering where they have gone, and if they are still here.

Even as a child growing up, stories unspoken in people unmet fascinated me. Though crowds are not my fancy, and fears of being closed in fluctuate without warning, the idea of knowing people deeply remained an irresistible attraction.

Without uttering hello, I have already been given a thousand goodbyes.

Meet my read, Jon McGregor’s If Nobody Speaks of Remarkable Things, an author who has done me no favour by augmenting my strange affection for nameless individuals. (more…)