Cigarettes and daydreams🖤

It’s all an illusion, It’s not real...IT’S NOT REAL!!!! NOTHING IS REAL!!! IT’S ALL FAKE!! YOU MADE IT UP!!! IT’S IN YOUR FAULT! YOU MADE UP YOUR OWN PROBLEMS!!! WHY AREN’T YOU WRITING FAST ENOUGH? WRITE FASTER!! TYPE FASTER!! CAN’T GO FASTER THAN YOUR THOUGHTS? CAN’T GO FASTER THAN THIS? THEN GET OUT OF YOUR HEAD! THEN BE PRESENT! THEN BE ALIVE! YOU’RE NOT ALIVE...you’re dead...open your eyes, open them and see how disgusting your mind is, STOP THINKING! STOP WRITING! Stop trying to express them, stop trying to pace them...stop trying to be understood...it makes no sense to them...this is nothing to them. Your naked thoughts mean nothing to them. They want pretty words; they want catchy phrases for Instagram. They don’t want this...This makes you look crazy; this makes you look ridiculous. Look at you not even trying to make this look pretty...look at you being bold now...It makes you look stupid.

“And I’m finally beginning to suspect that perhaps we’re not meant to understand life. All these furious attempts to explain and understand, this ongoing quest for the truth, may be a dead end. We bless the sun because we live the exact distance from it that is beneficial. A few million miles closer or farther away and we would burn or freeze to death. What if the truth is like the sun?”

I am an ugly cocoon covered with torn butterfly wings If any of the psychologists (damn them) asked me to describe myself, I would answer exactly the same as I called this post. Yes, this is how I see myself: ugly-beautiful, torn by contradictions deep inside, but outwardly calm, reasonable, analytically thinking tech girl. And I believe that I am not yet ripe for something more, that I am just a carrier, a cradle for my future self, so I lurking behind decadent images only in order not to expose my weaknesses, which I have more than the bones in my body. You probably ask: “Who the hell are you and why should we be interested in digging into your feelings?” Well, I will answer the first question that I am an ugly cocoon covered with torn butterfly wings, and the second question you may answer by yourself.

When your friend want smtn

don’t worry it’s a common misconception; everyone thinks they would understand my feeling till they actually get to know me.

and the reason i don’t share my doubts and troubles is i know you wouldn’t understand. my feelings are mine alone, i am convinced no one else feels this way so forgive me for being distant about it.

It seems to me that the Devil was born out of wordplay. At the dawn of time, these children – the young and innocent words – were sing and dance on the mossy tongue of God and, accidentally collided like atoms, become the personification of evil. Nowhere else they couldn’t appear, I cross my heart! But is evil a play itself? Does everything bad have a will and reason, or is it just a set of unfortunate coincidences, the worst bones? I do not know. I don’t know anything at all. I’ve been rereading the same page all my life, trying to understand its meaning, but by the evening I forget even the plot. Repeating human’s mistakes is a Dance of Youth around the Bonfire of Evil, and I just want to break out of this roundelay to drink the Dead Water from old fairy tales.

Prison is not always intoxicating doors and walls, the times of your prison will open its doors, but you are able to get out of it because it has become from you and in you, a big difference between being in prison and being in prison inside you. There are people who are ruled by the past, who are not able to get out of it, they are condemned to painful memories, and their wound is deep, even if they are happy, they will remain a teacher.