My Universe

Im hella tired but can’t sleep so I told the moon I loved her and then cried over how pretty the light from my window was

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Built with Processing.

— Bertrand Russell (via fyp-philosophy)

Art G.Shvecova (Design graphics - Rainbow Nebula_100618)

“Don’t just stand there,” my reflection taunts. “Do something? Or are you just thinking about all your problems?” My head is held down eyes closed. “Yeah. Think about how they talk about you. They call you different. They insult you. They couldn’t care less about you!” The first tears escapes my eyes. “I don’t care what they have to say about me!” My reflect growls. “Don’t you dare lie to me! I am you!” I stare my reflection in the face. “No you’re not!” The mirror cracks. “Yes I am! You care more than you let on. You let people talk and insult you and don’t fight back.” “That’s because I am better than those insults. There is also a better way to handle problems.” “ What? By not getting mad and calming down only for it to happen again. You’re not an anomaly! You’re another nobody destined to party, kill, and die. Just let me out."  "No.” The mirror cracks again. “I am better than this.” My reflection laughs. “What a joke. Whatever happened to doing what feels right huh? We could easily have those girls maybe even a guy.” “I don’t just want what feels right. I want meaning! I want to be somebody! Everything that feels right isn’t right.” With every word comes another crack in the reflection. They stare at each other until the reflection speaks “Everything you believe in is broken and doomed to fail.” “Then explain how you’re the one trapped in your own little world broken and I’m still standing.” He turns to walk away from himself. The reflection erupts with anger. “Don’t walk away. You’re gonna come back! Just like you did when you wanted to cut. Just like you did when she broke your heart. You can’t kill me! You are me! This will continue until you die.” He stops, looks back at his broken self and says “I guess we have to die everyday then huh.” Those final words shattered the mirror.

You’re given a book with your name on it. It’s completely blank. Everyday the person who gave you the book asks you to write in it. The book giver already knows how the story is going to begin and end but refuses to tell you anything because then you would panic. So the book giver gives you a little bit of what to write. Everyday. Every night. You have the choice to trust that it will end good or panic and write what you want. The book giver keeps telling you what to write down regardless. You start to question who the book giver is. No just keep writing. You start worrying more about the ending. No just keep writing. You get to the last page. Were you satisfied with your ending or mine?

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Art G.Shvecova (Design graphics - Blue-pink-stars_070318)