minimealist

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“i see you” “wow”

kita kita (2017)

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kita kita

“paano mo malalaman kung mahal mo ang isang tao?” “makikita mo yun, eh. yung lumiliwanag ang mukha mo pag nakikita mo siya” “nakikita kita”

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I am overly exhausted of pretending everything is fine.

(via everythoughtsandmemories)

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relax

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Loving someone is like moving into a house. At first you fall in love with all the new things, amazed every morning that all this belongs to you, as if fearing that someone would suddenly come rushing in through the door to explain that a terrible mistake had been made, you weren’t actually supposed to live in a wonderful place like this. Then over the years the walls become weathered, the wood splinters here and there, and you start to love that house not so much because of all its perfections, but rather for its imperpections. You get to know all the nooks and crannies. How to avoid getting the key caught in the lock when it’s cold outside. Which of the floorboards flex slightly when one steps on them or exactly how to open the wardrobe doors without them creaking. These are the little secrets that make it your home.

Fredrik Backman, A Man Called Ove (via mitchays)

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And time is a curious thing. Most of us only live for the time that lies right ahead of us. A few days, weeks, years. One of the most painful moments in a person’s life probably comes with the insight that an age has been reached when there is more to look back on than ahead. And when time no longer lies ahead of one, other things have to be lived for. memories, perhaps.

Fredrik Backman, A Man Called Ove (via hellyeahitsrandom)

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Death is a strange thing. People live their whole lives as if it does not exist, and yet it’s often one of the great motivations for the living. Some of us, in time, become so conscious of it that we live harder, more obstinately, with more fury. Some need its constant presence to even be aware of its antithesis. Others become so preoccupied with it that they go into the waiting room long before it has announced its arrival. We fear it, yet most of us fear more than anything that it may take someone other than ourselves. For the greatest fear of death is always that it will pass us by. And leave us there alone.

“A Man Called Ove” by Fredrik Backman (via youreabitweird)

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I used to recognize myself It’s funny how reflections change When we’re becoming something else I think it’s time to walk away…

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I JUST FINISHED GOLDEN SON!

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How to read golden son

Step 1: Open the book Step 2: Take a deep breath Step 3: Close that fucking book because you are not prepared for that fucking ending which will destroy your existence.

You’re welcome

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