perfection is a mythe

but i dream about it anyway. we woke up with the smell of freshly brewed coffee, lighted our cigarettes and went to the balcony. even though we had planned to go out we went right back to bed, where your fingertips followed my shoulders and arms. i had the urge to hug you so hard i'd hurt you, we layed there for hours listening to the radio making fun of bad songs and we danced to the good ones. we went out to get food and sometimes you kissed me on the head. i can only smile when i remember us.

so it's been a while but not much has changed, so many things could have happened but they didn't. so i assume they weren't supposed to happen or are yet to come. i am looking forward to the summer holidays so much. i have some great things planned, and probably going to plan some more. i am most looking forward to the atoms for peace concert which will be amaaaaazing because i'll see thom yorke in person for the first time and i love love love him.
i am so happy when the sun comes out and also i joined the gym because i have decided to become fit and toned so we'll see. hope you have a lovely day/week!

It is weird how after a period of fear you can so easily fall back in your old habits, as if nothing happened. as if you didn't almost die and after almost accepting that this might be it, you could have died. it reminds me of this quote 'almost dying changes nothing, dying changes everything'. i had expected our lives to be so different but in reality they are not, and to be honest i don't mind it that much.

we spend four days wandering the streets of london and running trough the tunnels of the underground and laughing about stupid things we did. the weather was wonderful and we took loads of pictures. coming back didn't feel like coming home, i want london to be my home. you crossed my mind sometimes and after we came back i told you i wanted to go and live there. you told me you'd go with me.

'i can't make art when i'm happy, i have to be confused or sad but not content' she said but she was content and then again, sad about being content because she wanted to paint.

'i keep writing sad songs' he said 'but i'm not sad?' and he played an old song, which was a happy one.

the warmth of your skin
against my cold hands
breakable and fragile
yet you can't crush them
it's in your eyes

a deep breath and you let go
running away from your fears
it will bring you nowhere
but in your very eyes
hope

rain

 'if people were rain, i was drizzle and she was a hurricane'