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Extraits de livres appréciés par Mamaladroite
C'était absurde et injuste, et les hommes pouvaient presque tout supporter, sauf l'injustice.
Mais avec l'espoir venait la déception.
Les opprimés voulaient des histoires qui expliqueraient leur malchance, même si ce qu'ils désireraient vraiment, c'était quelqu'un à accuser de tous leurs maux. Il était impossible de mettre le feu au fléau qui ruinait les récoltes, mais le fléau pouvait aisément être provoqué par une sorcière, et alors n'importe quelle pauvresse ferait l'affaire.
His hands were under my chin, pulling up the cover, tucking it around me.
"Most people are, Scout, when you finally see them."
It creeps up on you, quiet and still, sits by your side in the dark, strokes your hair as you sleep. It wraps itself around your bones, squeezing so tight you almost can't breathe. It leaves lies in your heart, lies next to you at night, leaches the light out from every corner. It's a constant companion, clasping your hand only to yank you down when you're struggling to stand up.
You wake up in the morning and wonder who you are. You fail to fall asleep at night and tremble in your skin. You doubt you doubt you doubt
do I
don't I
should I
why won't I
And even when you're ready to let go. When you're ready to break free. When you're ready to be brand-new. Loneliness is an old friend standing beside you in the mirror, looking you in the eye, challenging you to live your life without it. You can't find the words to fight yourself, to fight the words screaming that you're not enough never enough never ever enough.
Loneliness is a bitter, wretched companion.
Sometimes it just won't let go.
It never leaves. It's always there, watching, steadfast, knowing us in our light and dark moments, changing forever just as we do. Every day it's a different version of itself. Sometimes weak and wan, sometimes strong and full of light. The moon understands what it means to be human.
Uncertain. Alone. Cratered by imperfections.
Il n'y en avait jamais eu.