Emmamatilda

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At the temple there is a poem called “Loss” carved into the stone. It has three words, but the poet has scratched them out. You cannot read loss, only feel it.
Arthur Golden, Memoirs of a Geisha (via words-and-coffee)

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The heart dies a slow death, shedding each hope like leaves until one day there are none. No hopes. Nothing remains.
Arthur Golden, Memoirs of a Geisha (via larmoyante)