, apparently one of my juniors in school, whom i never had the chance to know. the thrill of reading familiar thoughts that once went through my mind, and current thoughts that preoccupy mine now. she loved Idealism too, a kindred spirit.
The soldiers that have trespassed on the ground of my mind the past week in no rank nor file:
Poetry is language symmetry, yinyang magic.
Lost in the music your heart will be mine.
mystress - tryst - mistrust
Ugly competition lurks around sentimental class reunions.
When I'm plugged in, the world becomes my mtv.
Everytime my eyes fall downward to my new scar, I feel human. My gaze clings to it the same way your mind lingers on the beauty of sadness. I feel resolved knowing that my skin communicates the constant agony in my head.
The people who have woken me up before are the ones I trust the most. There is something special in rousing me from my daily death. I trust you to bring me to life again.
I told Adeline: Happiness is not an achievement, it's a decision.
I poke fun at ugly couples because they dare to do what I don't.
The acute realisation that We are the Future hit me again.
Journalism is a mechanism for adding to the total amount of knowledge in the world.
I'll just be a companion. Grey. It will be a grand nothing day. Say yes. Say.
Stop doing things tomorrow.
I want to be able to hold your gaze when you ask about my history.
Everyone has got bets on each other.