I always have such need to merely talk to you. Even when I have nothing to talk about β with you I just seem to go right ahead and sort of invent it. I invent it for you. Because I never seem to run out of tenderness for you and because I need to feel you near. Excuse the bad writing and excuse the emotional overflow. What I mean to say, perhaps, is that, in a way, I am never empty of you; not for a moment, an instant, a single second.
— Virginia Woolf, from a letter to Vita Sackville-West (via buffyfaiths)
(via puggalo-blog)
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