Eviscerate your fragile frame. And spill it out in the ragged floor.
—The Shins
From two years ago.
Yes, there is a part of me silently wishing I could just sit in front of my window, watch the snow fall, and write in New York City. But I never really paid much attention to that tiny figment of my imagination. Tiny figments of imagination do not happen unless they really happen. As what happened to me.
I came here not to write, but to read - to study principles of learning, nerve conduction velocities, and construct validity and other things I really don’t feel anything for; my coming here was only something I had to do, only that I was given the magnificent background of the Brooklyn Bridge to tell me something. I am beautiful, am I not? I asked, and so did the city.
And then the imagination became real. The city looks you in the eye and asks you to do something. Build me, I heard. Turn more of the lights on, darken those alleys a tinge more. The city could have possibly meant embrace me and tell the world about me, but I learned, painfully, through a stranger a million miles away that New York did not want me to simply walk the streets of Prince and Spring; it wanted me to love fully.
I could be making these things up, hearing my thoughts and not the boroughs’, swimming in the overwhelming happening of me and the city; me magnifying distant lights, and wanting to wrap my arms around the pulsing night, the perfect sunrise. It could be the 150 days lived, and 29 days left.
littlefoxhole:fuckyeahexistentialism:
(Source: honeyforthehomeless, via littlefoxhole-deactivated201608)
Looking out onto the Atlantic Ocean. Minus someone to be transatlantic about.
Purrrr
Home alone and doing tumblr after a century of absence.
While singing along to The Shins. Na-miss ko ang tumblr, sheeet. I’ve missed it so much, I can smell it. And the blue is stinging me with memories. Ok. yun lang.
NIGHTNIGHT by DEDDY