read.write.wander.
what is there to say. i'm nothing to write home about. i am a pawn trapped in the war, the smell right before it rains. i am just passing through this place; trying to leave my mark in an unmark-able world.

 

Some people turn sad awfully young. No special reason, it seems, but they seem almost to be born that way. They bruise easier, tire faster, cry quicker, remember longer and, as I say, get sadder younger than anyone else in the world. I know, for I’m one of them.

Ray Bradbury (via sad-plath)

(Source: sad-plath)

Sometimes, I think about you.
I don’t know what happened,
but you’re apart of my past
and I can’t live there anymore. 

I enjoy controlled loneliness. I like wandering around the city alone. I’m not afraid of coming back to an empty flat and lying down in an empty bed. I’m afraid of having no one to miss, of having no one to love.

Kuba Wojewodzki, Polish journalist and comedian (via dieworten)

(Source: ughbenedict)

I have emotions

that are like newspapers that

read themselves.

I go for days at a time

trapped in the want ads.

I feel as if I am an ad

for the sale of a haunted house:

18 rooms

$37,000

I’m yours

ghosts and all.

Richard Brautigan, Revenge of the Lawn: Stories 1962-1970 (via sad-plath)

(Source: sad-plath)

I find out a lot about myself by sleeping. Dreams, they are who I am when I’m too tired to be me.

Jarod Kintz, This Book is Not for Sale (via observando)

As I grow older,
I realize that the more years we collect,
the less attachments we have with others.
We stop hugging when we say hello or goodbye
and we drop the I when we say “love you!”
as if we wanted no personal attachment
to such a heavy phrase.
we grow up and graduate college and swear we will
find ourselves,
but all we do is hide.