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Headaches, stresses and too much reading for studies. Please, God, would you mind throwing me in the washing bin and lay me down to sleep peacefully.

The thoughts i don't regret are (maybe) always built upon some sort of reference. It is as if i'm embarrassed by my volatile imagination (entailing not only imagery but tactility and audibility together)

Is there a word for describing beings, who find themselves almost always tearing themselves apart? Those tearings can seem like so: leniency towards the need to communicate more laconically but at the same time to express oneself profoundly; seem nonchalant and bubbly in parallel and so on...

Why do people who claim to remember their past lives always seem to be reincarnations of Helen of Troy or an accused Salem witch or someone heroic on the Titanic, and never a random cabbage-selling wench from the 1500s who died in her sleep at the ripe auld age of 39 and never learned to read

Scenes.

Uni is a death of peace of mind

Ig this app is the new tumblr for me. Huh.

Added these photos and the purple sweatered italian singer's song m%n swelled up instantly