❤
"My favourite thing
is to go where
I've never been."
- Diane Arbus
❤
it's three a.m. now and i know i should be sleeping but how do i sleep when all i can think about is how i never fail to screw things up so bad. i wonder how much dirt and dust have been accumulated under that rug of my life, where i sweep all the bad stuff and unhappiness and crap under; and pretend not to see or feel it, pretend that everything is okay. i pretend not to see or feel, i pretend not to care; but the truth is i do care so damn much, and it hurts so damn bad. is there something just fundamentally intrinsically flawed with me that i always come full circle, face the same old shit; just when i thought things will get better. that feeling, do you get that feeling when you know you're just skimming on the surface of ice, that underneath that thin surface lurks all the bad stuff, all the unhappiness; and you're careful not to break the ice because on the surface, everything looks fine and dandy, and you make believe that everything is fine and dandy, until you feel it. and how about that feeling when you've gotten what you want, but still, you're not good enough, and that struggle, that internal struggle that only you can see and feel, yes feel so damn acutely. is there really a light at the end of the tunnel? is there really rainbow after the rain? i say i'm optimistic, people think of me as optimistic, but is the optimism just really a cover-up for the bad stuff i know is always there, always present; because i know that if i don't put on the optimistic front, i'll just break down and collapse and shatter. there're so many things i ought to have done, looking back they could have been the best things i could ever have done for myself; but this conclusion arrives only on hindsight. why do i not know the importance of any decision i make, why can't we know we should do things right at the moment of doing? what is the point of regrets, what is the point of looking back? that inner ache, we can only feel when the moment has passed, when all we can do is swallow our tears and our pride and our ego, and see what an idiot we have been.
...
a wild flower dies
where it blooms
so let me be
a wild flower
its death shall be
the fading of beauty
-suchoon mo