My true happiness comes from my struggle through darkness, my loneliness during celebrations and my pain under light – the sources of fulfilment.
When I believed I was that much, I was just that without anything much.
And it came out that it is this heart to blame, the heart that loves the roses that can prick their thorns into it.
I wonder if it is as rich a feeling to live a dream as it is to dream.
If it’s not, then I am all set for running away with the crumbs of dreams.
Falling numb and staring at nothingness after reading something thoughtful : The loveliest feeling a book may give.
I’m just a broken piece of glass trying to be the mirror you look into everyday.
Even if things are far from being true, my heart has an irresistable urge to dream.