.

[sirxusblack]

“Dearest Cecilia, the story can resume. The one I had been planning on that evening walk. I can become again the man who once walked across a Surrey park at dusk in my best suit, swaggering on the promise of life. The man who, with the clarity of passion, made love to you in the library. The story can resume. I will return. Find you, love you, marry you and live without shame.”

[ilovna]

“Lipstick is an armour to the world. My mum had a thing when we were growing up – if she’d had a shit day or if something had gone wrong, she’d put her red lipstick on. I still abide by that.”

[le-monde-sans-couleur]

[bunchofaholes]

current mood: sitting in starbucks listening to new music by florence + the machine & reading star wars novels

[bunchofaholes]

So there's a bus driver I usually see 2-3 times per week, and every time I get on the bus he asks me how I'm doing ("oh, pretty good, thanks"). And then I ask how he's doing in return, and I always get the same sort of response: "Just one more hour" or "Only two more hours to go". And it always breaks my heart a little bit that this is how he measures his days: in terms of how many hours he has left until he finishes work. And maybe he has a fantastic life outside of work. Maybe he's just really excited to get home to his loving partner/kids/pets/Netflix series. But I'm always tempted to ask what he's still doing here, working a job that he can't wait to leave at the end of the day. And secretly I worry that this will be me someday, stuck doing something I frankly could care about less. And it terrifies me.