the dream has become their reality; who are you to say otherwise
Life is a question of nerves, and fibres, and slowly built-up cells in which thought hides itself and passion has its dreams. You may fancy yourself safe and think yourself strong. But a chance tone of colour in a room or a morning sky, a particular perfume that you had once loved and that brings subtle memories with it, a line from a forgotten poem that you had come across again, a cadence from a piece of music that you had ceased to play… I tell you, that it is on things like these that our lives depend.
(Oscar Wilde, The Picture of Dorian Gray
everything’s going to be fine.
White text reads: “I’ve had three knee surgeries, thirteen teeth pulled, six psychotic roommates, and three bosses who belong behind bars. But I had you. So yeah, I would consider myself a lucky person.”
I had a love affair
with a boy.
He just didn’t know it.
He held my stares
But not my hands.
He kissed my soul
But not my mouth.