Closed In A Room, My Imagination Becomes The Universe, And The Rest Of The World Is Missing Out.

“He repeated her name over and over again. The birds that were singing in the dew-drenched garden seemed to be telling the flowers about her.”

— Oscar Wilde, The Picture of Dorian Gray

I want to run away. Just completely disappear, tell nobody, and become someone entirely new. I can dress in pleated short skirts and blazers, be coy and mysterious enough that everywhere I go people are intrigued and charmed by my mere existence, only to vanish as quickly as I arrived. I want to be known yet unknown. Leave behind my past so I have enough secrets to fuel a thousand rumours about who I am. Maybe that’s good material for being lonely, but is that not how all the best people live and die?

it sucks right now for both of us but one day we will be swaying in each other’s arm as the homemade stew we are making for dinner bubbles on the stove, the scent of love and warmth fills our cozy cottage that looks just like something from a fairytale.

I have drunken deep of joy, and I will taste no other wine tonight.

— Percy Bysshe Shelley

I see many people saying “omg other people my age have kids and I am here with my life in shambles”; 

and I think: 

There is no one way to be a mushroom. Have you seen how fucked up they are? How god-ignorant and wild? Listen to the mushroom wisdom. 

Do whatever stirs your soul.

People my age are out, flirting, parting, having fun with friends.. I’m in my room looking at the ceiling while listening to soft music, considering my life all night long

-I’m gonna regret this when I’m older

Head empty just Hozier songs, quiet woods, Caravaggio paintings, dark cathedrals, empty streets, Donna Tartt, red wine, overcoats, bitter cold, black coffee.

i am so determined to fall more in love with life. intentionally romanticising the walks i am on, the birds chirping, the blooming nature around me, the water in my cup of tea turning from a light peach tone to a dark pink, the poetry i write, the things i am learning, my handwriting, dozing off while sitting in front of my window, all of it and more. I have to take a closer look at the little things that make my heart beat faster.

Only reason I haven’t gone insane is because I romanticise everything.

“There was so much in you that charmed me that I felt I must tell you something about yourself. I thought how tragic it would be if you were wasted.”

— Oscar Wilde, The Picture of Dorian Gray