If you won’t sing in the car with me when we drive, we can’t be friends

(Source: overdosed)

I have had a recurring dream, about once a year where I have conversations with people I don’t know, but are so familiar, I know, somehow.
I have known them, or do know them, will know them again, continue to know them and will know them again and again
I have the images of people I don’t know, now, with the spirit of those known, but not yet, again.
Then I meet you or you or you. I have you in my life today, but I remember them from before, somehow. Deja vu of the spirit, I deja vu you, haven’t we been here before, and why are you so familiar?
It’s all to you easy with you. You are one of them aren’t you? I feel you. You can stay. I’ve been looking for you somehow…


I sat down and had a great cry
still sitting there I wondered why
a cry so strong it burned my eyes
to catch my breath, I couldn’t try

the true cry of little boy
his hearts core, a broken toy
the real cry of something lost
feeling each piece and what it cost

an honest cry that brought so much
of missing that loving touch
sobbing cry from deep within
took me over and I gave in

my hardest cry, it had no parts
pure tears from a broken heart
so I sat there, the greatest cry
a part of me to say goodbye

still I sat there wondering why….

     ~ STL (via salacioustorturedlitany)

You never got to know my eyes
Without a look, no wonder why
To look inside beyond the wall
Deep within, to where I fall
Is to truly see me for me
The private place, so rarely seen
My inner side where only I dwell
If you see, I’ve cast my spell
But it seems you’ll never know
Beyond the windows to my soul

     ~ STL (via salacioustorturedlitany)

The great source of both the misery and disorders of human life, seems to arise from over-rating the difference between one permanent situation and another…. Some of those situation may, no doubt, deserve to be preferred to others: but none of them can deserve to be pursued with the passionate ardour which drives us to violate the rules either of prudence or of justice; or to corrupt the future tranquility of our minds, either by shame from the remembrance of our own folly, or by remorse from the horror of our own injustice.

Turgid Truth by Adam Smith

(via stray-ramblings)