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Shatter Me, #4.5

Shadow Me

Tahereh Mafi

En Eski Shadow Me Gönderileri

En Eski Shadow Me kitaplarını, en eski Shadow Me sözleri ve alıntılarını, en eski Shadow Me yazarlarını, en eski Shadow Me yorumları ve incelemelerini 1000Kitap'ta bulabilirsiniz.
It’s not the pain that’s unendurable. It’s the hopelessness. It’s the hopelessness that makes you reckless.
Somehow, I’ve become a magnet for pain. Other people’s pain. My own pain. The thing is, I have no one to blame but myself. I ask the follow-up questions that land me here. I care too much. I make it my business when I shouldn’t, and I only ever seem to get shit for it.
Reklam
Anlam Yoğunluğu :
. Ay sadık bir arkadaştır. Asla ayrılmaz. Her zaman orada, izliyor, kararlı, aydınlık ve karanlık anlarımızda bizi tanıyor, tıpkı bizim gibi sonsuza dek değişiyor. Her gün kendisinin farklı bir versiyonu. Bazen zayıf ve solgun, bazen güçlü ve ışık dolu. Ay, insan olmanın ne demek olduğunu anlıyor. belirsiz. Tek başına. Kusurlar tarafından kraterlenmiş. ...
"Beni Parçala"
These walls are paper thin, and Adam hasn’t changed a bit. Still moody. No sense of humor. Generally irritated. Sometimes I can’t remember why we’re friends.
So much drama in one day I can hardly keep it all straight.
A private room is a luxury I haven’t had in a while. It’s nice to have space at the end of the night to be alone with my thoughts. Somewhere to hang the happy face I force myself to wear even when I’m having a shitty day.
Reklam
He looks exactly like he always does. Shiny. Polished. Eerily calm and pulled together for someone whose girlfriend dumped him the day before. You’d never know he was the same dude who, in the aftermath, I found lying on the floor having a panic attack.
“Meet me downstairs in five minutes, and I’ll fill you in.” “Five minutes?” My eyes widen. “Uh-uh, no way. I need to take a shower. I haven’t even eaten breakfast—” “If you’d been up at three, you would’ve had time for all that and more.” “Three in the morning?” I gape at him. “Are you out of your mind?”
I hated that I cried. Hated that I couldn’t help it. Everyone thinks I’m not supposed to give a shit—that I shouldn’t—but I do. I always do.
I’ve got my own problems, my own burdens, my own pain and frustration, and besides, no one ever asks me about my day. No one ever follows up with me, no one ever bothers to peer beneath the surface of my smile. So why should I care? I shouldn’t.
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