January 2011
“Be careful what you show the world. You never know when the wolf is watching.”
—Revolution by Jennifer Donnelly (via make-me-smile)
“We’re friends, real friends, and that means no matter how long it takes, when you finally decide to look back, I’ll be here.”
—Ellen Pompeo, Grey’s Anatomy (via thoughtsdetained)
The best part of the morning is knowing that someone is waiting for you to wake up.
I am a guy, and I am very jealous of girls. Because, girls can hug, kiss and cuddle with each other without fear of being called as gay or lesbians. Girls share stories better with other girlfriends compared to guys who would rarely give a fuck about each other's problems. Girls can gossip around and look cute and beautiful, rather than being dull, like most trying-to-look-macho guys. But then, I remembered that females get heartbroken real easily, fragile, weak, works a lot at home, get pregnant, get period pains and lots more problems than most men. And that's the reason why boys exist. We exist to protect you girls out there, and its a shame that its hard to find a good guy nowadays. And I'm proud being a guy. Someday I'll treat my wife better than a queen.
What if I killed myself months ago and the only reason why you thought I was still alive was because I queued thousands of posts to keep status quo?
"If you like her, if she makes you happy, and if you feel like you know her---then don't let her go."
Erika, are you aware of what's happening to Egypt and Mumbarak right now? :( So sad..
Yeah. I’m really worried about my family over there. :( Pray for them, please.
Who is this, BTW? You could’ve left your name or something. :)
“
Sometimes fate is like a small sandstorm that keeps changing directions. You change direction but the sandstorm chases you. You turn again, but the storm adjusts. Over and over you play this out, like some ominous dance with death just before dawn. Why? Because this storm isn’t something that blew in from far away, something that has nothing to do with you. This storm is you. Something inside of you. So all you can do is give in to it, step right inside the storm, closing your eyes and plugging up your ears so the sand doesn’t get in, and walk through it, step by step. There’s no sun there, no moon, no direction, no sense of time. Just fine white sand swirling up into the sky like pulverized bones. That’s the kind of sandstorm you need to imagine.
And you really will have to make it through that violent, metaphysical, symbolic storm. No matter how metaphysical or symbolic it might be, make no mistake about it: it will cut through flesh like a thousand razor blades. People will bleed there, and you will bleed too. Hot, red blood. You’ll catch that blood in your hands, your own blood and the blood of others.
And once the storm is over you won’t remember how you made it through, how you managed to survive. You won’t even be sure, in fact, whether the storm is really over. But one thing is certain. When you come out of the storm you won’t be the same person who walked in. That’s what this storm’s all about.
” —Haruki Murakami (Kafka on the Shore)