It was nice to have finally met you! Although super fast lang, and I was craving for bananacue, it was still good seeing a Tumblr friend in person & sharing hellos and a few shy smiles :)
Inky on my dash! ^^ I hope the next time we meet will be over a cup of coffee/tea/coco. And I’ll have you autograph something Ms. Supahstar. (Just kiddin’!). You’re twice as awesome in person! You made my day a spoonful happier yesterday. ^^
Dear life, can you get any better than today? Because I would want nothing more than to be like the waves crashing on the same shore over and over and over again. To wake up to the same sunlight under the same sky. Smile at the same faces and laugh at the same lame jokes. And I couldn’t think of words that better describe today except that it was, it is, and it always will be an epitome of perfection…
… with OSTs from Kimya Dawson and The Moldy Peaches (and Ellen Page and Michael Cera as supporting casts).
The Sandman began to creep in through the open window and sat on the chair facing the bedside table where light barely came in illuminating some of the dark rims under his eyes. He whispers stories of slumber with words that cradled her thoughts somewhere out of that window, somewhere no one can find her. Then, once again, the promise of drifting away, a means of escape to this borderline life.
And the Sandman was left alone to face the reality she’d forsaken.
“Some people are uncomfortable with silences. Not me. I’ve never cared much for call and response. Sometimes I will think of something to say and then I ask myself: is it worth it? And it just isn’t.”—Miranda July (via untitledfragment)
I have just recognized the reality that, just as I have deemed every single current relationship I have as ‘for my personal disposal’ and ‘of least significant value’, it might just be the exact depiction of what my life is currently devolving into: ‘disposable’ and ‘insignificant’. But the recognition would automatically imply a counter measure, a retaliation, anything to be more than what the mind holds true. I am what is beyond the lines that bounds my reality.
I love you like how I love the setting sun. How she kisses the cool gray earth goodbye gently as it entertains darkness, to conquer what is hers and then… she’s nowhere to be found. How she leaves light and how it is remembered through the moon and stars. Eventually, she finds her way back. I love you like how I love the sunrise. How once again, she is one with the earth she loves.
This is what I’ve always known. The things that burn up in a moment and we never touch them again because they don’t make any sense. Like laying in your bed in just the right way for you to kiss me but before you can I’m already turning my head slightly and smiling suspiciously because it could have happened and it would have been perfect. But now it’s too late. …
“I don’t want to be the one asking you by the end of the day how your day went. And I hate not to be the one. I’m starting to dread and abhor the verity that you have turned the misanthropic infidel in me fancy the thought of being IN your day. (I might not be making any sense right now.)”—The Strangest Stranger discovers its fear of heights and dependency.