recesses of the mind

Who wrote the book on goodbye?

Dreamless nights, feeling: uninspired, something is missing.



You wanted things 

And you couldn’t help it, because there was only your life, only yourself to wake up with, and how could you ever tell yourself what you wanted was wrong? 


Simple, yes. But somehow perfect. Who would have known?


Happiness makes up in height for what it lacks in length. 


[4] i was drawn to you

… because I got it. It’s difficult to articulate, but beyond the glaring surface differences in personality, we were so similar. Except, in the worst way possible. Your actions – I understand them, and I can predict them. Whether I’m willing to deal with them, however, is an entirely separate matter.

I hope it didn’t leave a bitter aftertaste. After all, we both (almost) got what we wanted out of it all.

the apple will fall far from the tree

At least, I will make every last effort to do so.

(just a little bit of end of term motivation?)

On an irrelevant note – how disconcerting yet comforting that such a sizeable percentage of what we perceive is somewhat an illusion when you actually look properly.

up your game

… you have everything to lose.

fernando pessoa / florbela espanca / mário de sá-carneiro

What is the value in being highly regarded and appreciated when you don’t live to enjoy and experience it?

Literary and poetic geniuses from Portugal // their difficult lives and tragic ends show you that ‘normal’ can oft be a much better way to be.

“I’ve always been an ironic dreamer, unfaithful to my inner promises.
Like a complete outsider, a casual observer of whom I thought I was,
I’ve always enjoyed watching my daydreams go down in defeat.
I was never convinced of what I believed in.
I filled my hands with sand, called it gold, and opened them up to let it slide through.
Words were my only truth.
When the right words were said, all was done; the rest was the sand that had always been.”

easy breezy beautiful

((( )))

There will always be get-out clauses, you just choose not to use them.


一萬次瘋狂的愛 / 滅不了一個渺小的孤單