life gets..
weary when you forget which persona you're supposed to be at a certain time, moment and place.
a feeling of betrayal towards everyone else including yourself.
guilt sets in but you can't seem to patch the hole.
anger burns within and eats you alive. you know you shouldn't.. but you can't help it. you say "i'm entitled to at least that"

sometimes God throws up his arms in despair and says to himself:"I know that plenty of things might have been a little different, but what's done is done, and I'm not almight, after all."

thoughts. something you can't feel, touch, hear nor taste. yet they cause so much heartache, joy.. like dreams.. which you create by yourself, play all the characters. the film sits right at the back of the cinema and watches itself on the screen. memory. what does it mean to forget something when you don't understand the feeling of remembering. even if we have forgotten, it can suddenly pop out like a jack-in-the-box.

when i die a silver thread of smooth pearls will break, and the pearls will roll across the country and run home to their oyster mothers at the bottom of the sea. Who will dive for my pearls when i have gone? Who will know that they were mine? Who can guess that once the whole world was hanging round my neck?

death. even stars fall sometimes. they're just a tiny sparkle out of the great beacon in the sky.
tears. are you sad when something's beautiful.. or we become beautiful when something's sad..?

if i were to draw something, and i knew that what i was drawing would come alive when the drawing was finished, i wouldn't dare to draw anything at all. i would never dare to give life to something that couldn't defend itself against all those ambitious coloured pencils..

so caught up with wanting to live the way they want us to. what do you want? isn't it weird that we humans keep trying to figure out why and what and how we feel. and where does this originate.. no rock nor tortise would wonder that. we are the light and airy. vulnerable. we come and go. like mountains slowly disintegrate into sands and shingles.

we see everything in a glass, darkly. sometimes we can peer through the glass and catch a glimpse of what is on the other side. if we were to polish the glass clean, we'd see much more. but then we would no longer see ourselves.

the silent screams that so randomly fixate themselves.

and she quietly imagines a white room with a black ceiling. she focuses on the black, slowly erasing the blurred edges. yet the blank stares back at her. waiting to pounce on her as if what she did was a sin. yet she sees through the black.. and she finds her rainbow in the night.