La vérité obsédante beauté:

Le plus simple des beautés de la manière la plus compliquée.

~ Saturday, May 5 ~

“ When I got older I decided I wanted to be a real writer. I tried to write about real things. I wanted to describe the world, because to live in an undescribed world was too lonely.

~ Sunday, April 15 ~

“ This is the one,” the Universe assures me from behind the counter.
“But I thought you said the last one was the one?” I reply.
“No,” says the Universe. “I sold you that one so you would know that this, this is the one.”
“Is there another one?” I ask the universe.
“I can’t tell you,” they reply. “It’d ruin the surprise.

~ Monday, February 27 ~

“ I found out that Royal Mail loses about 14.4 million letters a year. This scares me. What if someone needed to tell someone else something important, like they loved them and they’re waiting, or they’re dying and they need them, or they’re sorry and they didn’t mean it but the only way they could do it was through a letter? I’m very anxious about this now. My skin feels like something underneath it collapsed. All those lost words and thoughts and wishes. Everything those people wanted the other person to know, gone.

— unknown

(Source: vichhika)

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~ Sunday, February 19 ~

~ Friday, January 20 ~

The past, it lurks in shadows that we thought we cast to flames. What’s worse is the mind can’t be taught to erase these things. What comes first? The falling out, the fire or the pain? What’s worse is the heart can’t be taught just to play the game.

~ Tuesday, January 17 ~

(Source: vichhika)

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~ Tuesday, December 13 ~

“ Red, I write, Is the color of life. It’s blood, passion, rage. Beginnings and violent end. Red is the color of love. Beating hearts and hungry lips. Red is the color of shame. Crimson cheeks and spilled blood. Broken hearts, opened veins. A burning desire to return to white.