“ I put my hand on him. Touching him was always so important to me. It was something I lived for. I never could explain why. Little, nothing touches. My fingers against his shoulder. The outsides of our thighs touching as we squeezed together on the bus. I couldn’t explain it, but I needed it. Sometimes I imagined stitching all of our touches together. How many hundreds of thousands of fingers brushing against each other does it take to make love?
—
Jonathan Safran Foer, Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close (via loveyourchaos)
I still love love love this book.
(Source: beautemillesimee, via romanceandrevolution)
