"
Whoever is writing the story of my life,
you’re doing a beautiful job.
I can see it when I close my eyes.
Frozen frames in a slideshow.
I see them;
Open up the sunroof, let the rain fall in.
Sobbing on an airport floor in Dublin.
Because I just can’t imagine leaving you this way.
Sloppy barbecue on a paper placemat.
After an birthday afternoon on a sunny spring bank.
You and me, on my roof, looking at the sky,
and then looking at each other.
Head on head, earphones split, so we can hear
the same music as we roll through the hills.
Pouring rain, kissing on a playground.
Telling you the reason I had fallen in love,
was because I see you and you’re kind.
Your head in my neck,
because I simply like you carrying you places.
And so I carry you everywhere.
I carry you everywhere.
- Wild Horses. (via insearchofthebeautiful)
(via insearchofthebeautiful)
"Admit it. You aren’t like them. You’re not even close. You may occasionally dress yourself up as one of them, watch the same mindless television shows as they do, maybe even eat the same fast food sometimes. But it seems that the more you try to fit in, the more you feel like an outsider, watching the “normal people” as they go about their automatic existences. For every time you say club passwords like “Have a nice day” and “Weather’s awful today, eh?”, you yearn inside to say forbidden things like “Tell me something that makes you cry” or “What do you think deja vu is for?"
- Timothy Leary (via mackenziesiobhan)
(Source: thetigerleaps, via insearchofthebeautiful)
