don’t mind the stinging misery or dazzling stupor, the lost innocence
or the delicacy, the unbearable solitude or the overwhelming lightness,
anything that’s fragile and brief, that’s slipping away as you’re
looking at it, that’s a story. mine talk about utter freedom, the
unsophisticated and truest kind. the one that blossoms in simpler souls,
clear like spring water, or in dark spirits that run like madness. mine
talk about kindred ones, and fearless love, times when there was no
place for arrogant ambitions, and wanting less, meant feeling more.
someone once told me to always live for the little things in life. live for 5am sunrises and 5pm sunsets where you’ll see colours in the sky that don’t usually belong. live for road trips and bike rides with music in your ears and the wind in your hair. live for days when you’re surrounded by your favorite people who make you realise that the world is not a cold, harsh place. live for the little things because they’ll make you realise that this is what life is about, this is what it means to be alive.