1975 - robbers
6.14.2014 @ 03:36
Labels: mixes
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not sad, not angry, or happy, or annoyed
6.13.2014 @ 00:29
She’d wake up every morning to the soft caress of fingers
dancing along the strings of a guitar – each note too low to even be heard, or
appreciated. It was majestic and ambiguous and a whole lot of sad but it was
her house, nonetheless.
School sounds like a mixture of extreme chords – all of
them so loud and so soft at once that she could barely figure out whether to
love or to hate the chaos that made her afternoons bitter-sweet.
But whenever she was alone, she would hear nothing but
the silence and the sound of air leaving her body. She’s reminded of how empty she
is – and that if life was a river and everyone were anchors, she would be floating
on the surface too empty to even sink.
Labels: personal
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