How far we have come from the things once we knew, the distances we created the bridges we have built. Now when i look at you and look at what i have created this magnificent being, glorious beautiful tower of triumph. I am humbled.
People come in a dozen, all you have to realize not everyone is going to stay, not everyone in your life is going to make a difference even if you thought they would have. What you have to realize is.. They are simply passing through. There is nothing wrong with passing through, understand the being of passing through and move on to things such as standing by. So While you pass through, somethings will be standing by and for those things you should have no fears, no doubts just ambition and an uncertainty of things going right.
wake up with you in mind.
My Dear, Slow dancing in a burning room.
There is a particular kind of suffering to be experienced when you love something greater then yourself. A tender sacrifice.
Like the painted silence felt in the lost song of a mermaid, or the bent and broken feet of a daning ballerina. It is in every considered step I am taking in the opposite direction of you.
my sweet bitter end.
“Ōkunoshima (大久野島) (…) is often called Usagi Shima, or Rabbit Island, because of the numerous wild rabbits that roam the island; they are rather tame and will approach humans.”
oh mY GOD I NEED TO GO HERE RIGHT NOW
(Source: tommeoww, via heavygrey)
Does it fade? Can it fade? or should it?
Does it matter? why do we take such things: happiness,sorrow and joy for granted?
You make me feel, an array of emotion bundled in a room full of darkness with no hope of ever seeing light of day. The thought of burning knowledge of what it could be like; just as the sun beams & slightly burns my skin. The feeling of being alive, the feeling what you are doing right now has a purpose. With infinite meaning that words wont ever be able to describe.
So why is it that now that description is in play?
Have you lost your incandescent glow. The glow that ignites my soul to wake every morning. The dampness of your soul, the hollow feeling of the empty sea at large of which I take to bed. The aroma of Moroccan oils, I say no more of you, because what is in you, is what is left of you. You can only decide.
For when the time does come to part, a part of you shall stay in the depth of this deep desire of true happiness waiting to soar. Waiting to float away as if clouds ment nothing but a bed to sleep in.
I Will Tear youuu APART! MOtherFuckER!