This long journey, the sound of bells growing louder, calming albeit alarming, as if urging me to live. But what is living? Is it the pursuit of destiny, or simply doing what feels right in the moment? There’s always been an firey itch in the brain for someone to call a name, to utter those syllables in order, just the intention would be enough. A quest to be seen. But what would that name mean to anyone? This ringing in the ears what would it signify? The question grows and bears fruit to something similar, words, asking the same thing, dragging force going the same direction, again and again, until numbness shifts into contrition.

Frustration emanates from the spring where kindness is sought, yet it proves to be a shallow endeavor. To be loved isn’t about staying; it’s about remaining a memory, untarnished. Though an abandoned train in the meadows is beautiful, I wish to be remembered for warmth, a scorching deception, warmth that could not be given. Staying timeless in the mind, like the sun.

Don't get me wrong, I love drama. I just ain't the type to participate

Sorry, I left my common sense home. What were you saying again?

You're insecure in everything you do, yet you love yourself to a point of total narcissism. You're warm and endearing one second but indifferent and aloof the next.
Some days we talk randomly abt anything that exist in the universe until sunrise and others a simple smile in my direction is too much to expect of you. You confuse me in every fucking way possible.

Looks like they're tryna keep her from some kinda mental breakdown

How am i still 'ok-ing' my way through life.

I feel so sad I don't understand why.

The best thing about the bedroom was the bed. I liked to stay in bed for hours, even during the day with covers pulled up to my chin. It was good in there, nothing ever occurred in there, no people, nothing.

Buying books and reading books are two separate obsessions

We shall not cry over spilled milk