Dreams are glimpses into our past lives.
Dimples signify that you’ve lost something important, but can’t remember what.
A woman once fell in love with a robot. And the robot fell in love with her. When the robot’s makers discovered that he had somehow gained emotions, they tried to take him back to fix him. However, the woman ran with the robot to the ocean, terrified that they would change him and he would no longer love her. So she tried to sink him to the bottom of the ocean, where they would never find him.
“You’re waterproof! You’ll survive!”
Only, the robot grabbed her and drowned her with him.
The blood we spill always stains our hands, remains there forever. Trying to wash it off only removes the color, not the substance. It’s still there, just invisible to our eyes. It can be seen, but only by the ones who we tell about it.
Thanks for the feature, lovely tumblr editors!
Wow, I’m blinded by the love! Spontaneous dance party is the chosen method of celebration tonight. Thanks so much!
I really wanted to get lost in your music.
I really did.
I wanted it to remind me of the way my mom used to play piano and put me to sleep.
But I kept getting distracted by your eyebrows.
They arched in such a strange way,
Like someone had painted them on royalty,
all ethereal and dabbed on with just a hint of brown,
the last thing to be added to the painting.
It didn’t look like you deserved to be out in the cold in nothing but your tweed coat and musty tie.
It really did look like you had better places to be,
or at least places you’d aspired to be.
Perhaps you imagined we were an audience at Carnegie Hall,
because you certainly treated us like one.
But you did a nice job
I must admit,
the eyebrows had me distracted.
But your face was rather distracting altogether,
sloping forehead and sunken eyes,
like you were horribly exhausted of playing the same five songs over and over again.
It must get boring after awhile I would think.
But you’re the cellist,
To be honest, I can’t remember what you played.
But I can remember everything else,
the twelve dollars and seventeen cents in your case with the scratch on the handle,
the way you tried so hard not to let your breath be visible in the air because that would ruin the showmanship,
the way those goddamn distracting eyebrows curved.
But what I remember most,
is the way you looked back at me,
with those curious peering eyes,
and the way you never smiled.
There was a store in the middle of San Francisco. The store was empty except for one object which sat in the middle of the room, a big black box, and the man in back. No one actually knew if he worked there, but everyone had seen him, though most people’s descriptions were just a tad different.
The store was always open. But no one seemed to want to buy the only thing it sold. Then one day someone went in and took the box, didn’t pay or anything.
The next day, the store was closed, the man was gone, and the place looked like it had had been uninhabited for years.
The roof of my head is dissolving
into my abstract thoughts flitting away,
leaving my brain
and my thoughts
and my words
exposed to everyone
That’s supposed to be good.
That’s supposed to be me finally talking about myself
about everything that worries and bothers me.
Exposition leads to revelation.
That’s supposed to be good, right?
That terrifies me.
The signs on the side of the road appear there randomly and no one knows how. The government just claims to put the signs there so they appear to be in control.