:all the little things that open your eyes, altering you from the moment you find them. They're the inspiration you feel when you see the beauty in something ordinary. It's when you forget the big picture simply to notice the way the wind blows through your hair, or the smell before rain. It's a book that changes your life. It's midnight coffee, and night-long heart-to-hearts spent on rooftops. It's when simply existing makes you feel invincible.
Ask me anything.
Do you also believe that what gives our lives their meaning is the passion that suddenly invades us heart, soul, and body, and burns in us forever, no matter what else happens in our lives? And that if we have experienced this much, then perhaps we haven’t lived in vain? Is passion so deep and terrible and magnificent and inhuman? Is it indeed about desiring any one person, or is it about desiring desire itself? Sándor Márai, Embers (via light-essence)
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