There will be maybe one or two people who will enter your life and leave their mark on you throughout your lifetime. Those kind of encounters you never forget them.
how are you supposed to feel worthy of something when you have gone your entire life only experiencing the opposite of what you want? i despise and feel enraged when people tell me that i must believe in myself, that this is the key that will open opportunies. maybe i do not think i am unlovable because i have a low self esteem. maybe i really think i'm smart and funny and interesting but when you are unnoticed and your presence seems to not make impact on a single person, you start to wonder. maybe some of us like themselves a whole lot but we feel like we should not do that. a fact is different from an opinion because the former expresses a reality and not a taste, so how can i know for a fact that all the good things within me are real and not a result of pure delusion - pushed by the instinctual human nature to think we are better than what we really are - if no one notices? we can love ourselves all we want but if we are doomed to be these ghosts who are present but not really, it is never going to be enough. at the end of all things, life is an act of showing off. we only exist if someone else looks our way; if they don't we are pure nothingness. and some of us have gone an entire life without that privilege.
In the heart of the old town there's a parkland with old trees
Old buildings, narrow streets, a perfume of lemon in the air
It's september, still summer
And I like the way the wind stirs up the leaves in the gutter
The quiet warm afternoon
Poetry in the detail
Dans le cœur de la vieille ville, je traverse le parc aux vieux arbres
Le parfum des citronniers circule entre les vieux bâtiments, les ruelles
Nous sommes septembre, c'est encore l'été, chaud et salé
Et j'aime la tranquillité de l'après-midi écrasé de soleil
La façon dont le vent pousse les feuilles sèches dans le caniveau
La poésie dans le détail
I am the honey singed with fire
a train carriage named desire
and a rage, and a fear you’ll never know
cause love never goes
it just becomes a monster.