Utopia.

And I still keep asking myself why you always choose someone who hurts you over me when I was the one who cared for you the most

Perhaps the saddest writers are the ones writing in a foreign language, because they purposefully choose to limit themselves. They let their emotions spill out in limited capacity because they have to, they can’t write in their native language. They just can’t- it would crush them down. Native is cruel, it is life, something you experience your being through. They would feel their emotions, feel them in their bones and soul. That would be too much.

Once, Picasso was asked what his paintings meant. He said, “Do you ever know what the birds are singing? You don’t. But you listen to them anyway.” So, sometimes with art, it is important just to look.

“Lloyd, io non capisco perché la gente cada sempre negli stessi errori”

You never know how long your words will stay in someone’s mind even long after you’ve forgotten you spoke them.

I kinda hope it’s hard for you to look at me. Because all I know is I can’t breathe when I look at you and that’s all I’ve ever known.