It’s just one of those nights where you feel so sad it physically hurts.
Those who run from Death stood still in life.
I am a lover without a lover. I am lovely and lonely and I belong deeply to myself.
Death is the mother of beauty. Only the perishable can be beautiful, which is why we are unmoved by artificial flowers.
I think about dying but I don’t want to die, not even close. In fact my problem is the complete opposite. I want to live, I want to escape. I feel trapped and bored and claustrophobic, theres so much to see and so much to do but I somehow still find myself doing nothing at all. I’m wasting every second, even now i’m writing this when I should be out there, I should be living. I’m still here in this metaphorical bubble of existence and I can’t quite figure out what the hell i’m doing or how to get out.
We all have two lives. The second one begins when you realize you only have one.
please be as weird as me please be as weird as me please be as weird as me