Somebody once told me that there was something extraordinary about silence that I had to experience for my own sake; that…
Her nickname — Introvert and haughty
Blanket of stillnesscomforting the pensivenessof poetic illness.
I still feel angry and tense when I think about him. Two days later.
Perhaps there never was a chance. There was something about his volume and his professed desire to “get wasted, man” as soon as he burst on the scene that got to me.
Em tempos de barulhos e gritaria das redes sociais, quem consegue conviver com o silêncio é virtuoso.
It gives him power.
He put his name on everything so that you would be forced to see it and say it.
The more we report it, the more it builds on itself. The more it fulfills its own insane meta prophecy.
in a Random Tiny Tale titled Silence
To whom the shoe fits,
Empty pages Speaking more than The thousand words they wish to be