Sleeping is like being dead without commitment.
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'96. I love books, music and Justin Bieber. May the odds be ever in your favor. x

552th - It's Barely A Nation
20111226 @ Monday, December 26, 2011
"I want to know how many scars you have and memorize the shape of your tongue. I want to climb the curve of your lower back and count your vertebrae, your ribs, your fingers, your goosebumps. I want to chart the topography of your anatomy and be fluent in your body language. I want you, entirely."


This is what my imagination gets up to when I'm not paying strict attention.


They walked into the deepest part of me, and saw two doorways. 
One had dark blue light shining underneath the door, but the door had no handle. He opened the other door, needing to budge it with his shoulder to open it (the hinges had started to rust). The walls were a deep red, pulsing slightly. He walked in, finding himself in a hallway. There was a faint humming in the air that grew louder the further down he went. Little golden notes floated in the air past his head. Then, he turned a corner. The floor started seeping with golden melodies. He started running to a final archway. 


Heaving for breath, he stopped short of the very centre of me. The core was filled with beautiful music. It sounded something like a guitar and a piano and a violin, all fused together, with heartbreakingly lovely vocals. The hole he had come to find, had been filled. He dropped to his knees, feeling suddenly useless. All had been for naught. I didn't need saving anymore. So he journeyed back out the way he had come, and when I woke up, he just held me instead. "I'm sorry," he said. "It's okay," I replied. Then he started to fall asleep, humming a familiar tune. 
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