Pages turning, lights are burning
See what you could not see
It's plain as the day
The night makes you pay
For what was hidden underneath
Longing to leave But begging to feel that
Something will make you stay
Gotta believe that this all leads
Somewhere we've never been
Tired of the guilt
Tired of being sorry
Well, haven't we suffered enough?
what if I fall and hurt myself would you know how to fix me?
what if I went and lost myself would you know where to find me?
if I forgot who I am, would you please remind me?
Can you be an adjunct in a person's life?
Someone who people does not consider or give much importance.
Could you be the right person, but only at times ?
Is this a deficiency ?
Would that be right?
Should we learn how to accept our importance in the right moments ?
Or should we take more pride or self-esteem to the point of not accepting certain situations. ..
while i thought that i was learning how to live ,
i've been learning how to die.
- Da Vinci
what if I fall and hurt myself
would you know how to fix me?
what if I went and lost myself
would you know where to find me?
if I forgot who I am . .
would you please remind me?
梅 - 花見 - 日本
The longer I stand here
The louder the silence
I know that you're gone but sometimes I swear I hear
Your voice when the wind blows
So I talk to the shadows
Hoping you might be listening
But I know that you can't hear me any more
- Skylar Grey
everything is broken ...
you can see in people faces ,
every single one of them .
but you see . . .
that's also how the light gets in .
so don't you give up .
Cause real Darkness, is something more
than just a lack of light.
" In the world beyond the tale we turn the page and close the book,
and we resume our lives. A life that is, like any other, unlike any other "
Today i saw for the first time my favorite book on screen ,
"the perks of being a wallflower" .
my eyes are hard dry from too much crying ,
my cheeks are hurting and i guess it's from too much smiling ,
i don't know how can someone make such a beautiful
characters . I love you all .
I hope someday in my life i can meet them ,
i hope i can have a friend like Charlie ,
meet people like them .
i wish i can have the luck to share my life ,
and all the moments cause , right now ,
i feel infinite .
i want you to tell me about every person you've ever been in love with .
tell me why you love them , then tell me why they loved you .
tell me about a day in your life you didn't thought you'd live through.
I wanna know the first time you've felt uncomfortable in your own skin .
and if that day still haunt you beneath your bones .
do you prefer to play in puddles of rain or bounce in the bellies of snow ?
and if you were to built a snowman , would you rip two branches from a tree
to built your snowman arms ? Or would you leave the snowman armless for
the sake of being harmless to the tree ? And if you would , would you notice
how much the tree weeps for you because your snowman has no arms
to hug you everytime you kiss him on the cheek ?
do you kiss your friends on the cheek ? Do you sleep beside them when
they're sad, even if it makes your loves mad ? Do you think that anger is a
sincere emotion or just the timid of a fragile heart trying to beat away it's pain ?
I want you to tell me all the ways you've been unkind . Tell me all the ways
you've been cruel .I wanna know how much of your life you spend just giving .
And if you love yourself enough to also receive sometimes . I wanna know if
you bleed sometimes through other people's wounds .
“If all else perished, and he remained, I should still continue to be;
and if all else remained, and he were annihilated, the universe would turn to a mighty stranger.”
― Emily Brontë, Wuthering Heights
I sought, and soon discovered, the three head-stones on the slope next the moor
— the middle one, gray, and half buried in heath — Edgar Linton's only harmonized by the turf and moss,
creeping up its foot — Heathcliff's still bare. I lingered round them, under that benign sky;
watched the moths fluttering among the heath, and hare-bells; listened to the soft wind breathing through the grass;
and wondered how anyone could ever imagine unquiet slumbers, for the sleepers in that quiet earth.