Killing my darlings.
Writing new darlings.
Here's a snippet.
Snip. Snip.
"That's when I knew I loved her, when I realised we were sharing the same reality. People called us delusional, they told us we were hallucinating; a serious case of folie à deux. But we don't care what people think, they are the crazy ones. Not us."
Q.
Mosquitos. I hate mosquitos.
Blood bandits that leave you itchy and red.
Mosquitos, you are not welcomed to harvest my blood.
I have spilled too much in my lifetime to spare some for you.
I once had a greedy mosquito suck my blood.
Once it started, it didn't stop.
The little fucker ended up bloated with my blood.
It's abdomen see-through from accommodating the amount of blood it's ingested.
I blew on it.
It stopped sucking.
I blew on it some more. A little harder this time.
It rolled down from my leg and fell to the floor.
It exploded.
Mosquito carcass and a tiny splatter of my blood.
It was quite an exquisite sight.
Art can be found in the weirdest places.
Art can be found in the tiny explosion of a greedy insect.
Julien compared love to bungee jumping. The ability to find the courage to jumpa off a ledge despite being terrified of the outcome.
Will you fall? Definitely. But will your faith keep you safe? Yes... Most of the time. Just like the rope used in bungee jumping, sometimes it snaps. Sometimes your faith, like the rope, is weak and you hit the ground.
But, just like Julien said, the ability to find the courage to jump is an impressive feat and one should not be afraid to fall.
Anderson hates apples and school work and being in public.
Anderson finds comfort in being alone.
Anderson is always alone.
Anderson is not lonely.
Anderson is not lonely.
Anderson is not lonely.
Anderson doesn't know what loneliness is anymore.
Anderson is always alone.
Anderson hates apples.
The poetry that you whisper will echo
through eternity.
The sound of your breath overflows the ears with
every note in musical history.
I'm picking up the pieces of me.
I'm a jigsaw puzzle that fits together to form a desolate
portrait called 'trouble'.
My heart is a rotting basement.
A convict imprisoned in the prison of self, living in the mix with rats.
Everyone mocked my strait-jacket gestures. Was
so sick, my insides twisting and turning like a moebius strip.
So I turned my ear to my inner self and had a three-way conversation between me, myself, and I.
I was captive to a deceptive sense of good and evil.
Caught in the ways of the world.
I was blind because my two eyes, filled with reality,
decieved me.
Now that I've opened up my third eye,
I can see clearly. You are my inspiration, my eternity and my soul.
Without you I got no reason to go on.
I live by breathing you.
My cocooned soul blossoms into a butterfly and soars.
No reason to live without you
You are my sky
And inside you, I saw the sun
I was living in darkness, but now with the light you've given me
I can harvest the field of my heart.
A kiss that brings Spring.
I let out a long sigh because I'm afriad to let go of winter, but like the two ends of the earth
we push and pull.
We are stuck together, like Nother and South Korea.
From the beginning, we were a one-piece existence splite into two.
In the eardrum that we share,
the world 'love' echoes.
Our meeting was destiny.
Even if you're a beautiful blade. I will place you in my hands.
Even if your heart is like the wind, I will follow you.
Even if I must choose the darkness of hell, I will gladly close my eyes and let go of the light,
for you.
No reason to live without you
You are a bright window
in the prison cell that is life.
A river that is like the sea.
Once I fall in, I can't get out.
My weak feet take me into you.
If you ask for my soul, I will give it to you.
Without you, my heart is an empty theater.
How could I survive the world
with such a weak heart?
I wouldn't last a day. You, my rainy April,
I will protect you till the end of the world.
L.O.V.E you, I was made to be with you, made to be with you, made to be with you.
My friend brought me to lunch at her friend's house today. It was nice. Her friend cooked a feast. Halfway through the meal her husband asked to be excused. When he left, the wife (my friend's friend) started crying.
It was that special kind of crying, where your tears just flow silently in a steady stream. I didn't understand.
Their baby started crying in the room above, but no one seemed to notice. We ate our food and my friend continued to chatter cheerfully. It was a bizarre scene. I finished my food just as the baby stopped crying.
After lunch she served us coffee. I had two cups. The coffee was divine but the conversations were awkward. No one seemed to pay attention to what they or anyone else was saying. I sat quietly savoring my coffee. We left not long after that, her husband never returned.
On our way back my friend told me he was in the back shooting up.
I had no idea heroine addicts could look so well put together.
