insomnia

She liked feathers and raindrops and stars, and the way her mother said "dinner".  She liked haunted houses and kittens and folk music and crafts.  She liked boys who looked like girls and stores that smelled like perfume.  She liked the way the sun rose hesitantly each morning, and the way the moon transformed.

It was ironic, she always thought to herself as she stared, fascinated, at the numbers flicking by on the digital clock, how much she enjoyed sleeping, and the concept of it, and the way it felt and all, but how little she actually slept.  She would make up excuses, that she was too busy, or talking to somebody, or...or....(they all were lies). 

The secret was that she hated sleeping at night.  She fell into a dreamlike state of life as the numbers climbed towards their peak, and fell back to start again.  It was as though sleep was irrelevant, since she was already dreaming.  And the next morning, her eyes heavy with regret and sadness, her body would reject the day, her mind would reject the nerves that dashed around, craving those refreshing hours.  But at night she would sit at the glowing screen and type on, type faster, trying to evade the hours as they came, feeling satisfied and exhausted as the night wore on.

she's ripping wings off of butterflies

vogue italia march 2010
lady grey

by tim walker

Passion or Perfection?

Sometimes, don't you just need intensity?  Don't you get tired of the mundane, of the homework and tests and facebook and television? I say, forget it all. Put on a new shirt. Now add something that sparkles. And something that clashes.  Do your hair differently and throw some feathers into the mix.  Dust your eyes with glitter. Pout at your reflection. And then walk around barefoot, and say hello to strangers. The confines of suburbia are cracking, and you can break them. You can punch down the walls and awaken the city. Scream it out, shout it out, I say, live now, now, NOW! Stop waiting. Stop wasting time. Life is too short to sleep, life is too short to bother doing anything half way, because you'll never finish. Find something to care about. I mean, something to truly care about. Something that makes you want to cry, something that makes you want to climb the walls, something that makes you want to wake up in the morning. Don't do what makes other people like you, do what makes you happy. There are 6 billion people to like you, but maybe only one thing that truly makes you happy. Do it. The people who are worth knowing will come to you, the ones who want you to be happy. Even if you aren't perfect. Because being perfect isn't human. Being passionate is.

so lovely

Just a lovely video for lovely people on this lovely day
(:

uncontrollable

it's not giving up. it's giving in.

giving in to the universe, giving in to life, giving in to love.

i've got sunshine on a cloudy day

I saw this, and it struck me, because I know I do this. I fear rejection to the point where the risk doesn't even seem worth it. And that is the part of me I think I need to evolve out of, get rid of, destroy. Because there is a fine line between falling and flying. At right now, I can't do either.  But I stare longingly at the clouds, watching people-birds who can soar up there, whose wings are spread wide and flutter elegantly.  And then, slightly below I see those with a determined gleam in their eyes, whose wings are trembling as they seperate from the body, twitching and shaking as they catch the wind.  Time after time, I watch the determined gleam become a look of wisdom, a look of knowledge and peace and trust in the wind.  They soar higher, their wings like beautiful dancers, cutting through the sky, creating a masterpiece. I'm standing on the edge of a cliff, waiting for my turn to jump.  But I am done waiting. This middle ground is bland, with bland people and blank faces who eat nothing and smile a half-hearted sort of grin. I want my cheeks to hurt. I want to try, and fail, and crash to the rocks below and feel something there, feel some hurt and feel some passion and try again. Because those on the rocks are never there for long.  I see them, leaping off the cliff confidently a second time, and I cry out to them, asking how they can be so hurt and still find it in their hearts to continue, and I can be so unbroken and yet still so full of fear.  I tremble and shake, my wings quivering limply, begging me to try. My mind and heart are in a shouting match, my mind saying Not Yet, Maybe Later, Just Wait, It's Not The Right Time, and my heart saying now now now now now now now now.

"how can you stay outside, there's a beautiful mess inside"

Haven't you ever wanted just to love? To hold somebody's hand and feel their warmth hovering in the space between your fingers, because it feels empty and cold alone?  And you realize, it doesn't really  matter who it is, because you get to this point of lonliness where you want love more than you want an actual person.  That's when it's a problem, you see. Because your mind starts breaking up your past into tiny pieces, and putting together the beautiful colors that slip well together and fit perfectly.  Until you're staring at this breathtaking jigsaw puzzle, and wanting it, and believing it to be real. Forgetting about those other pieces, shoved on the floor. Forgetting that people are not all pretty, that there is the ugly and the bad and the upset and the disgusting too. And that's what love is. It's not the perfection, so if you're looking for that, you'll forever be looking. It's the everything else. It's the good and the bad, the pretty and the ugly, the yin and the yang, all knotted and twisted and dirty and sparkling and confused.