I exist, that is all, and I find it nauseating.
“
| — | Jean-Paul Sartre (via -misanthropy) |
(I)
I will fight until
my last breath
just to help you
find a way to stay.
(II)
I will search every
inch of the earth
for the answers
to each question
you are so desperately
longing to ask.
(III)
Can you tell me
what the point is of
searching for things
we may never see?(IV)
Why would we
even entertain
the mere idea of
ending this when
I would rather watch
as you have your way
with me.
My memory loves you; it asks about you all the time.
“
| — | Jonathan Carroll (via confessionsofaquoteaholic) |
the cinnamon peeler's wife: i’ve been home for a day now, two days really. the slow heat of the... »
i’ve been home for a day now, two days really. the slow heat of the end of may. the rain heavy on all the windowsills, on all our skin. i wake up in the morning to thunderstorms, fall asleep to the light trickle over the roof. i’ve been sleeping a lot, way past the normal hour i wake up. twelve…
I’m almost never serious, and I’m always too serious. Too deep, too shallow. Too sensitive, too cold hearted. I’m like a collection of paradoxes.
“
| — | Ferdinand von Schrubentaufft (via h-o-r-n-g-r-y) |
If there is one thing that nurtures and promotes the romantic in me, it is seeing happy elderly couples. I enjoy going out to eat in the city. If one wishes to disappear and not be found, it is easier to become lost amongst the populace than in remote locations. All who have become acquainted with my habits and affinities now search the dark nooks, crannies and deep woods for me. No one imagines that I would dare hide in plain sight, under the sun. Vampires tend to shun the daylight after all. Due to my solitary existence, I tend to dine alone. I always select a restaurant where I may sit near a window to watch the world dance before me. I then become lost in my own thoughts as the world dissolves into blurred visions and background noise. But, when I see an elderly couple, the world around them, their world, is suddenly brought into sharp focus. The pessimistic nihilist in me is hushed and I feel a warm sense of happiness for them. I am reminded of what love should be. We live in an age in which people say “I love you” far too often and to far too many without meaning it. “I love you” are words that should bear worth and the weight of honest and true commitment. Those of generations before mine were born in a time when effort was put into repairing what began to show strain. Today, that effort has been replaced by apathy and easy surrender at the first sign of cracks and imperfections. If bitterness was instilled in me, it is because I lost faith in ever hearing “I love you” again with the pledge the words should carry. I am my own generation’s harshest critic, for it has taught me that in this period we are disposable and replaceable. As I sat at a table today, enjoying a soup and salad, I looked outside to see an elderly man across the street put his arms around his wife and kiss her. He hugged her for a moment. They were then swallowed by the masses. Hope. I returned to my meal. My soup was delicious.
Just after I turned twenty, this thought hit me: Maybe I’ve lost the chance to ever be a decent human being. The mistakes I’d committed — maybe they were part of my very makeup, an inescapable part of my being. I’d hit rock bottom, and I knew it.
“
| — | Haruki Murakami - South of the Border, West of the Sun (via tat-art) |
