SILLY RABBIT @sillyrabbitsilly - Tumblr Blog

pureblyss

Don’t live the same year 75 times and call it a life.

Robin Sharma (via suspend)

me when i’m not ok but I don’t want people to worry about me

inspiring-pictures

Stupid conversations make sense when you are talking to someone special.

(via makemestfu)

icachondeo

FADED MEMORY

I am looking forward to the day where I am truly happy, not just happy as I can get but be at peace within myself and within these walls. These walls are crushing me, suffocating me. Sometimes I wake up and I feel like I am not in my house. I feel like this is not my room. The man next to me is a stranger. Sometimes as I watch his face, the lights plays tricks on my mind and he looks different almost someone I don’t recognise. I feel like a stranger. I feel like I have broken into someone’s house and soon he will wake up and scream and ask me what I am doing in his house.

I look at the ceiling and trying to relax. The door is ajar open. I hate looking at the door when its dark while I am in bed. I always feel like I will see a shadow or I always will hear things, thinking someone trying to break in or sometimes I feel like I will turn around and you will be there, the shadow will be you. You will hold your hands over my mouth and whisper you miss me. I look at the door now longingly. Was that a shadow or is my mind playing a trick with me again?

I put my hand under my pillow the coolness of the pillow and the sheets feels nice against my burning skin. Maybe if I can sleep, I can stop this nonsense and tomorrow I will wake up as a new person or maybe I will wake up in a different world. Won’t that be nice stuck in a world that you don’t know? Is this what’s happening now? Maybe I am stuck in a different world right now? Am I? I ask myself questions and answer them in my head. I try to remember as many memories but some of them are blurry. Especially the childhood ones for some reason I remember them like old damaged black and white photos, no colours, blurry, faded and smudged. A kid, standing by the window and looking at the grey buildings and pathetic backyard with a dying tree. Is that child really me? Did this happen or is this memory part of my imagination? I can’t tell but I clearly remember asking a question to my uncle. Asking him if the clouds were children of god and I remember my uncle laughing at me.

I remember the wooden box by the window full of my auntie’s belongings from when she was a young girl. I remember the smell, the smell of clean linen and mothballs and soap. I remember the window the fire place and I remember the many days spent by me in this room by the window, in a grey smudged black and white world with a colourless backyard and a dying tree. A kid, standing by the window, singing songs to no one.