Do you realize that people move on steadily, even arguably bravely, unto the end, stunned and more stunned, and numbed and more numbed, by what has happened to them and not happened to them?
Warming my cold hands
over my cup, I gaze through
my foggy windows
and feel, not unpleasantly,
all the autumns of my life.
What I sometimes mistake for ecstasy is simply the absence of grief.
The meaning of life is that it stops.
Franz Kafka (via theflowershop)