alexwalborn
Fighting against apathy is like scraping coarse fabric against soft skin. It tears and leaves a rash that irritates. I struggle so much with focus that it makes me want to scream. I am sitting in a public library right now, at one of those study tables, and the girl across from me has her nose in a text book and is muttering almost inaudibly to herself as she scans the words and keeps whipping out highlighters. So intensely focused. Why am I so apathetic? I can't bring myself to care...morale has left me, tenacity is gone, left with nothing more that the sickly unimpressive desire for comfort.
Wow this word is pretty. I really have no idea what it means, but I really like it.
It is perfectly illogical to think you can turn into any kind of animal you want. The same way it is absurd to think that you can just up and quit your job to travel across the country in a van, living off the land and taking pictures and living like a perfect little boho.
Illogical, yet...SO beautiful.
(Most illogical things are.)
After all the choices he'd made, his heart was slightly more disfigured, but just slightly mind you. If you were to hold up the two hearts, the original and the way it looked now you would notice...but if you were to look at the latest version of his heart, you would barely be able to tell it had changed.
Just slightly blacker, peakier here and there, with a slight bulge here or a white tube there.
It is always the little things over time that change us, mold us, perfect or disfigure us. (And our organs.)
I am tryiiiiiing to be vocal to myself about the important things I need to DO:
Be responsible.
Work hard.
Hold on to your dreams, but don't become so consumed by the things you hope to do and recieve that you become distracted and even negligent of your work.
After all, your work and your income are what will TRANSPORT you in the direction of your dreams. (I just barely wrote this exact same thing on 750words, but I don't care; I need to pound it into my brain)
There's a secret door behind the oven. Believe it or not, you have to climb inside, scary as it may be---just pretend you're going to Narnia if it makes you feel better. You will come out on the other side any where you wish to be. Magic!
If only there were a patch on my hole in the middle of my chest.
Oh those rafters, how they float and fill and ring---How the particles in the air dance around them, flirtatiously, daringly. How dangerously high and old and damp and sometimes clotted with dust, until the owls come in the night, their landing perches erupting clouds.
Oh man, I can eat it for breakfast. I like it cold. I like it all over his face, because it improves his smiles.
Crucial: the frosting is the BEST part, but only if it's not whipped cream. Only the real sugary kind.
I am on lake Michigan with my family, each and every summer. I am in LA. I am in Florida. Always it is night.
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