Tell me a piece of your history
That you're proud to call your own
Speak in words you picked up
As you walked through life alone
— Bastille, The Silence
Secondhand pleasures. Secondhand agonies. Secondhand mistakes and realizations.
I looked back at the most recent entries in this blog and they all seem to be excerpts lifted from books, films, and songs. I don't know if I live such a dull life that can not merit such beautiful descriptions, that my experiences will always pale in comparison to the adventures people have in distant lands. Or maybe I just haven't found the right words, because things are still not in place, because what I know now are just disjointed pieces of a great whole. So maybe, maybe, I should just continue learning what I can, take what I can get, from other people's conjured worlds and beautiful words.
A whisper, a sigh. Stolen kisses and tough goodbyes —
When did it begin to be yours? When did it begin to be for you?
Or perhaps, firsthand wonders are beginning to present themselves already. All the universe is asking me to do is notice, and feel.
