They don’t tell you in school
how experience can teach you to heal
in all the wrong ways.
I sabotage myself so well,
bolt myself in
before others can open the doors.
My words are clumsy and awkward.
People regard me like a car accident;
they can’t look away
from something so tragic.
Sometimes I forget how to be human.
I hope on those days,
you’d be willing to wait for me
to resurface.Tina Tran, Someday I will be better
(Source: absentions, via iloveffdp00)
Last night I dreamt about you;
I dreamt I looked into your eyes,
and I touched your warm skin.
Then the phone rang,
and I woke up.
My chest started to ache,
my skin started to
burned with need,
and my eyes filled with tears
as I realized that I didn’t even
get to say goodbye—
again.(87/365) by (DS)
There are three classes of people: those who see, those who see when they are shown, those who do not see.Leonardo da Vinci (via observando)
The best fantasy is written in the language of dreams. It is alive as dreams are alive, more real than real … for a moment at least … that long magic moment before we wake.
Fantasy is silver and scarlet, indigo and azure, obsidian veined with gold and lapis lazuli. Reality is plywood and plastic, done up in mud brown and olive drab. Fantasy tastes of habaneros and honey, cinnamon and cloves, rare red meat and wines as sweet as summer. Reality is beans and tofu, and ashes at the end. Reality is the strip malls of Burbank, the smokestacks of Cleveland, a parking garage in Newark. Fantasy is the towers of Minas Tirith, the ancient stones of Gormenghast, the halls of Camelot. Fantasy flies on the wings of Icarus, reality on Southwest Airlines. Why do our dreams become so much smaller when they finally come true?
We read fantasy to find the colors again, I think. To taste strong spices and hear the songs the sirens sang. There is something old and true in fantasy that speaks to something deep within us, to the child who dreamt that one day he would hunt the forests of the night, and feast beneath the hollow hills, and find a love to last forever somewhere south of Oz and north of Shangri-La.
They can keep their heaven. When I die, I’d sooner go to middle Earth.George R.R. Martin (via observando)