“Lost opportunities, lost possibilities, feelings we can never get back. That’s part of what it means to be alive. But inside our heads - at least that’s where I imagine it - there’s a little room where we store those memories. A room like the stacks in this library. And to understand the workings of our own heart we have to keep on making new reference cards. We have to dust things off every once in awhile, let in fresh air, change the water in the flower vases. In other words, you’ll live forever in your own private library.”—Haruki Murakami (via saddest-summer)
These two hurt more than the dozens before, because I actually thought it was going to change.
June. July. August. September. October…
Still emptiness in my gut, strange after-taste of hope on my tongue. I say nothing to anyone. I just listen to the echoes around the house for about half an hour.
But you live and learn. Gotta keep going. It wasn’t meant to be. All of that stuff. Maybe I didn’t want it enough. I feel I’ve got to get really determined. I’ve got to build myself a place I can comfortably fall-back upon every time i get a knock-back, so that it doesn’t hurt that much. A cushion. A spring board. A secret ambition. A un-altering fact that if it’s that important, I’ll make it happen. No excuses. No reason not to go forward.
Deep breath. A little prayer for continuing courage.
Introducing the insanely talented German artist, Simon Schubert. Famous for his elaborate paper folding, there’s no question about his knowledge of perspective and vanishing point. But perhaps what’s most impressive is the delicacy and care evident in each of his works.
“We’re all going to die, all of us, what a circus! That alone should make us love each other but it doesn’t. We are terrorized and flattened by trivialities, we are eaten up by nothing.”—Charles Bukowski Quotes (via beanfield)