I was always attracted not by some quantifiable, external beauty, but by something deep down, something absolute. Just as some people have a secret love for rainstorms, earthquakes, or blackouts, I liked that certain undefinable something.
Haruki Murakami (via saetern)Don’t fuck with insecure people, you can’t fix them. Never compromise your standards. Leave when you feel like leaving. And never ever give anyone more care and respect than they give you.
No. No, I don’t want to see you again, to have shitty expensive brunch with you, or smoke shitty dry weed with you. Why? Because I don’t ever want to be someone’s hidden plaything. Not ever, ever again. It hurts. Just the thought of it, hurts. The thought of being with you triggers a sensation of hungry parasites gnawing at every special thing that makes me, me. There are so many beautiful things inside me, so much insanity, so much passion, so much love, and you don’t see any of it —you don’t want any of it. I won’t sell my soul for the short comfort of being held by you. I won’t sell the beauty inside and settle for a hollow, insecure shell of a man, when there is someone out there that can only ignite, not suppress, the flames inside. You’ll find that girl that’s empty too. The world will never remember you. You’ll live good, average lives that satisfy the masses. Me, i’m going to live. I’m going to live for myself, and set this world afire.
Burn your bras and delete your facebooks.