And I miserably fail to understand how someone can turn into old love letters and meaningless dedications on front pages of unread books in splits of seconds, into negative vibes and dry words that shock upon uttering, into something that happened in another life time to someone else, definitely not to you.
How all the things make sense in a different sense now.
It is not the end of the world, but rather a different ending to the world.
A distant beautiful inspiration sends its sparks and fades into different horizons, spreading its beauty elsewhere.
I bought a pink lips shaped phone that I find gorgeous.
I have The Beatles lighting up my apple green bedroom wall.
David Gilmore is a god.
This is everything you need to know about me.