Ceraunophile & Pluviophile

I could need you in many ways yet I don't; I love you in many ways. It is peculiar. I need you only in the sense that you need yourself. I don't expect anything to be mutually intense among us. I somehow like the thought of being the one who is feeling already more than one should. But I need you to believe that you are distinctively refreshing. And uncommon. And intriguing. It is an extreme oddity of mine but I need you to believe that. Call it a form of paranoia; I know that I am feeding your ego right now. Call it self-defense; I am putting in words your uniqueness in an attempt to explain to my own self why is it that I adore you. The truth is: You shine out like the sun shines out and you melt away all my intentions of a fatal, whatsoever, description regarding what is it exactly that you do. There is no exactness. See, it takes suns and miraculous imagery to slightly sketch you in words whereas you probably are as complex as an impressionist painting of impeccable quality. You continually provoke my blatantly awful poetical instincts; that is for sure.

“Maybe my passion is nothing special, but at least it’s mine.”

“If I let myself care, all I feel is pain.”

“When they see you’re doing better without them, that’s when they want you back.” - Unknown

“Perfectionism is very addictive because it is very seductive. It’s so great to think ‘There’s a way I can do things where I can never be held in judgment by other people, that I can totally escape criticism.’ But it doesn’t work.”

“Nothing ever becomes real till it is experienced — Even a proverb is no proverb to you till your Life has illustrated it.” - John Keats (via quotemadness)