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So Apropos
Saw death on a sunny snowFor every life, forego the parable. Seek the light, my knees are cold. (Running home, running home) Go find another lover; To bring and- to string along. With all your lies, you're still very lovable. I toured the light, so many foreign roads For Emma, forever ago. |
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about art.
Art is what you can get away with.
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bridget.carine. divinia. jieyang. gabby. michelle. monica. muk. patricia. sara. wendy. PLAYLIST twitter
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Design: doughnutcrazyIcon: morphine_kissed Do credit accordingly if you changed the icon. |
There's only so much of the dreamer I can take. So much of the hopeful and the joyful. The adventure and the flight. I'm not the fantastic. I'm not the brilliant, the Enid Blyton kid on the wishing chair, climbing trees and meeting pixies, I'm not the boy who hitches a ride from birds, visits planets, and knows better than adults. I'm not anything from anywhere. And this thing that I'm trying to be? We're not on the best terms. I'm a girl who has her head in one book or another. A girl who scoops ice cream, has a personal struggle with self-esteem, who looks up in the city sky and sees a dull, off-black nothingness. A girl who has loved, and lost, and cares about what others think, yet doesn't want to at all. She doesn't know how to have fun, she doesn't want to tumble down hills to see the sunrise. And she doesn't think there's anything wrong with it. So why does the world say otherwise? If the extraordinary and strange are celebrated, what happens to the mediocre?
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