strung to clouds

The Shadow of the Wind ()
by Carlos Ruiz Zafón

Skyla. F. 93.
I know what I like and like to know more.

2 years ago• 0 • Reblog

I wonder if my mom understands that getting sick is not entirely our fault. She yells like we’ve gotten so wired up that we killed someone when my sister and I get a fever.

2 years ago• 0 • Reblog

Sometimes I wonder if I’m actually invisible. Sometimes I wonder if anyone can hear me make a sound at all, that if I scream, would anyone care to stop and ask, “what’s wrong?” or just say, “did you hear that noise?”

I realize then how big the world is and how small I am. After that, I realize how small the world is and how big I can be. And it’s all really confusing. I like to think that I’ve somehow learned a little about people - and myself - but every time I go to bed and wake up in the morning, it seems as if I have no clue at all…it’s as though I’ve started from the very beginning, no signs or past reveries to help me along the way. It always surprises me how little I know or how much I change in a day. I’ve got all these masks, all these faces, and I have no idea when or how to use them. Every breath is like a contradiction…

I wonder if I would want my life any other way. Am I content? 

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