“My mother told me that you can’t cure depression,
that taking pills wouldn’t fix me and taking six
instead of the prescribed two definitely wasn’t
going to speed up the process. But I met a boy
who tasted better than Prozac. He made it easier
to get out of bed. He kissed me like I was
alive, like I wasn’t empty, like maybe there was
something left inside me. He made my bones
ache less when he touched me. He made it okay.
When my world was crashing down around me,
he picked up all the pieces. When I stopped
breathing and tried to tear open my wrists to
find the last little bits of happiness left in my
veins, he was there to lace me back together.
But he left and I haven’t washed my hair in three
weeks. My mother was right.”—I met a boy who tasted better than Prozac (via extrasad)
“We learned in art class that technically, black is not a colour, but rather, the absence of. Black was in fact, a shade—one that held its presence in every gradation of grey, only departing completely, with the transition into white. I always thought of white as a clean slate, an un-written page. A snow covered field or a wedding dress. White is starting over, an absolution from all your sins. That day, I was the furthest away from white that I could possibly be.”—Lang Leav (via langleav)
'A Story of Yonosuke' is a simple yet heartfelt story told well through flashbacks and properly executed moments of nostalgia. And only after two and a half hours into the film will you only realize that you've traveled quite a bit of a journey with Yonosuke.
Kengo Kora is a gem.
And the Japanese always portray ‘the transience of things’ best.
At least once in my life, I would like to meet someone like Yonosuke.
Sometimes, when the internet is a bit slow and I’d open up your chat window, it’d show me an error: ‘We were unable to fetch previous messages in this conversation.’
And I’d hold my breath for a short while and let out a sigh. While I know it was a connection error, it almost felt true - that maybe, whatever I thought was there was never there in the first place. Sometimes, technology is too honest.
Just before I’d close the window, I would read the message to myself just one more time. ‘We were unable to fetch previous messages in this conversation.’
I’d stop and think ‘Perhaps the connection was too slow. Perhaps our connection was indeed too slow.’