The distance that wedged itself between me and my happiness wasn't the world, it was me.
my thinking- the cancer of never letting go. what did thinking ever do for me, to what great place did thinking ever bring me to?

I think and think and think.
I've thought myself out of happiness one million times, but never once into it.

i look weird here.


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i'm always missing someone or someplace or something, i'm always trying to get back to some imaginary somewhere.
my life has been one long longing.

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I find it quite incredible how completely and utterly misunderstood i am by others. my preference to spend most of my time on my own and because i’m always too apprehensive to really engage with others, often leaves others with the impression that i am either very or arrogant. i get that this could quite possibly be all my fault, and maybe i should ( Read more... )

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i spend most days in this bed that i abuse, i spend entire days putting off that which can't wait,
but i think that i’m justified cause i’ve seen what trying’s done for those who’ve tried.


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