Remembering life is like looking at a puzzle. Each piece- each scene, event, person, feeling- is whole, but separate from every other piece. I can't understand how they all fit together. Which pieces form the corners, the sky or the logo on the very bottom right. Each instant is purely self-contained. My life is lived, puzzle piece to puzzle piece, not knowing where each goes in the grand scheme of the larger puzzle.
This is mostly a scrapbook of reblogs. All pieces of other peoples puzzles. You can find some of my writing here:
sinking sands
mine
we felt alive
the letter F
confession
I think 50% of people who are against e-readers are just mad that they don’t know what I’m reading, and therefore can’t make unfair and erroneous judgments about my character. In those cases, my Kindle is my way of saying “Fuck you”.
(Source: rickybrugal)
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walkingoutoftime said:
I simply prefer books, so fuck you back.
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NIGHTNIGHT by DEDDY
