(no subject)
i was just reading on the 5th floor of the library, and the view when i looked to the left was the greyest landscape i've ever seen and then reading the first Rilke letter (in the book from my mom) about how a writer must look deep within himself and ask whether writing is necessary, whether he MUST write: and my first thought (but for the creating of sounds) was a resounding NO. so what the hell DO i need? i dont even know and its just making me incredibly sad. its like i dont know what to do to make myself happy anymore, its not something i can control. but this sadness is so reachable.
so much of my thoughts have been wishes for change.
there's something else too, for nothing is ever this simple, of course. something that i keep feeling from the air today, that i cant name or even slightly comprehend. i think i'll go outside to look for it now.
so much of my thoughts have been wishes for change.
there's something else too, for nothing is ever this simple, of course. something that i keep feeling from the air today, that i cant name or even slightly comprehend. i think i'll go outside to look for it now.