Dear Song I Can’t Fucking Get Outta My Head, I think I love you but it might just be infatuation.
Happiness inhabiting my every molecule.
I fall in love way too easily.
Being a high achiever and perfectionist has its dark side. Starting with a ferocious competitiveness and an implacable need to win. Wish I could resist myself. Sometimes.
I’m one of those persons who needs to move to think. Move to think.
If something is irrational and crazy but pleasant, I’ll probably want to do it.
Is there anything better than having a moment of complete self-abandonment, as if possessed?
Yes, I’m imperfect and vulnerable and sometimes afraid, but I’ve learned that is OK.
“Fantasy is so much more pleasant than reality, and since most people don’t have the power or courage to create such a world, they enjoy being around those who do.” – Robert Greene.
My inner child devilishly enjoys this thought very much.
Women are narcissists, in love with the charms of their own sex.
I might say from time to time that I don’t like being lonely but it’s a lie. I’m a loner.
Sometimes I wonder if myopia is a way to avoid reality.
There’s nothing grownup about jammies.
High-heels are dead.
I wish I were where I really want to be.
What makes me most envious is not related to something physical but to knowledge.
I have discovered that my most sexual part is closely related to my most childish part.
I’ll tell you a secret: I know I could be doing more than this. It’s just I’m afraid it won’t be as wonderful as I imagine it.
Love comes in many forms. Sometimes in a fuzzy way.
When someone says “Don’t tell anyone”, they really mean it. Don’t trust to other secrets that are not yours.