This was an attempt at happiness,
A feeble thread
And a soundless firework.
With roads diverging
After sudden crossroads.
A lingering scent
In the clothes no longer worn
Locked in boxes no longer opened,
Under piles of heavy weight
To make it die,
And melt
And dissipate.
Out of all our senses
The smell is the toughest.
“There is nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and bleed.” ― Ernest Hemingway
23yo babe, passionate about life, mostly into walking into the woods, wandering through new cities and reading loads whilst listening to Van Halen. I'm the type of girl who brings a book at the party to mislead the idiots and ends up stripping her soul away when the music gets louder.
Un phoenix renăscut prin cuvinte din cenuşa amintirilor
Courage doesn’t always roar. Sometimes courage is the little voice at the end of the day that says I’ll try again tomorrow. ~Mary Anne Radmacher
Zile și zile
I teach you and you teach me!
a citi este a bea apă...şi mi-e sete tot timpul..:)
