it’s okay to feel lost. we don’t always know where we’re going next.
by Tojo Suyemoto
This is our barracks, squatting on the ground, Tar papered shacks, partitioned into rooms By sheetrock walls, transmitting every sound Of neighbor’s gossip or the sweep of brooms The open door welcomes the refugees, And now at least there is no need to roam Afar: here space enlarges memories Beyond the bounds of camp and this new home. The floor is carpeted with dust, wind-borne Dry alkalai, patterned with insect feet, What peace can such a place as this impart? We can but sense, bewildered and forlorn, That time, disrupted by the war from neat Routines, must now adjust within the heart.
i’m a hopeless romantic with all these ideal scenarios in my head but i’m also terrified of falling in love and trusting someone new.
everytime i come back to tumblr it feels like ive opened a long forgotten beautiful book
“I’m not wise at all. I told you, I know nothing. I know books, and I know how to string words together—it doesn’t mean I know how to speak about the things that matter most to me.”
~ André Aciman , call me by your name
thinking about Kait Rokowski writing, "nothing ever ends poetically, it ends and we turn it into poetry. all that blood was never once beautiful. it was just red." and losing it
doesn't it feels like authenticity is missing in our age's work and art. like yes, its beautiful but the essence of originality is absent and its defying the art's virtue
quantum entanglement metaphorizes that everything in this world is connected in many of some ways no matter where you both are in the universe
people around me: *reading multiple books* *watching ongoing anime(s)* *Binge watching shows* *making art* *doing productive stuff*
me: *constantly daydreams about different scenarios including the portrayal of me and my inaginai girlfriend's runaway from home*
"You once told me that human eye is God's loneliest creation. How so much of the world passes through a pupil and still holds nothing. The eye, alone in its socket, doesn't even know there's another one, just like it, an inch away, just as hungry, as empty. "
Ocean Vuong ( On earth we are briefly gorgeous)
just a lost 18 year old kid in search of something (he/him)
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