It was sad, it was sad, it was sad. When she came back we didn’t sing or laugh, or even argue. We sat drinking in the dark, smoking cigarettes, and when we went to sleep, I didn’t put my feet on her body or she on mine like we used to. We slept without touching. We had both been robbed. - Charles Bukowski (via junecoast)

(Source: blackbootsandanklesocks, via w0nd3rful-druqqqqs)