she//her ♡ reader ♡ writer ♡ existential crisiser ♡
580 posts
Poetic Justice.
Poetic justice.
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More Posts from Wisp-of-thought
And she teetered on the edge of the world
Knowing that she was not the brightest star in the universe
She was the universe
“I guess you are kind of curious as to who I am, but I am one of those who do not have a regular name. My name depends on you. Just call me whatever is in your mind. If you are thinking about something that happened a long time ago: Somebody asked you a question and you did not know the answer. That is my name. Perhaps it was raining very hard. That is my name. Or somebody wanted you to do something. You did it. Then they told you what you did was wrong—“Sorry for the mistake,”—and you had to do something else. That is my name. Perhaps it was a game you played when you were a child or something that came idly into your mind when you were old and sitting in a chair near the window. That is my name. Or you walked someplace. There were flowers all around. That is my name. Perhaps you stared into a river. There as something near you who loved you. They were about to touch you. You could feel this before it happened. Then it happened. That is my name.”
—
“My Name” Richard Brautigan, In Watermelon Sugar
(via
glowgirl
)
Take a leap of faith, darling.