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THERE WILL BE NO MIRACLES HERE
Daniela, 26, Argentina.

(Source: galasai, via deadlysick)

Why doesn’t it rain anymore here? Even the most simple pleasures are being denied to me.

weepling:

Naoshima Contemporary Art Museum by Tadao Ando

weepling:

Naoshima Contemporary Art Museum by Tadao Ando

(via llleighsmith)

I desire the things that will destroy me in the end.
At this moment I do not believe in anything and I have no hope. All forms and expressions that give life its charm seem to me meaningless. I have no feeling either for the future or the past, while the present seems to me poison.
vuov:


Buildings - Unknown

vuov:

Buildings - Unknown

(via deadlysick)

April 27. Incapable of living with people, of speaking. Complete immersion in myself, thinking of myself. Apathetic, witless, fearful. I have nothing to say to anyone - never

(Source: andren, via aryasnark)

I saw my life branching out before me like the green fig tree in the story. From the tip of every branch, like a fat purple fig, a wonderful future beckoned and winked. One fig was a husband and a happy home and children, and another fig was a famous poet and another fig was a brilliant professor, and another fig was Ee Gee, the amazing editor, and another fig was Europe and Africa and South America, and another fig was Constantin and Socrates and Attila and a pack of other lovers with queer names and offbeat professions, and another fig was an Olympic lady crew champion, and beyond and above these figs were many more figs I couldn’t quite make out. I saw myself sitting in the crotch of this fig tree, starving to death, just because I couldn’t make up my mind which of the figs I would choose. I wanted each and every one of them, but choosing one meant losing all the rest, and, as I sat there, unable to decide, the figs began to wrinkle and go black, and, one by one, they plopped to the ground at my feet.
Why does the universe go to all the bother of existing?