nedjelja, 30.06.2013.
Jesen usred ljeta
Napisala sam pjesmu.
Kratka je, ali sam u njoj uspjela izraziti svoje osjećaje.
Jesen usred ljeta
Gledam beživotna lica drveća.
Grane koje se predaju rukama vjetra, dopuštajući mu da im on odredi sudbinu.
Jesen usred ljeta.
Preplavljuje me oštar plašt sjete i obavija mi srce.
Sjeta je kao bodež koji te iz snova vraća u stvarnost.
Gledam beživotna lica drveća.
Grane koje se predaju rukama vjetra, dopuštajući mu da im on odredi sudbinu.
Jesen usred ljeta.
- 21:27 -
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I can't think about that right now. If I do, I'll go crazy. I'll think about that tomorrow.
Tara! Home. I'll go home. And I'll think of some way to get him back. After all... tomorrow is another day.
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“I’m too tired to fight against you anymore, too tired to say you are wrong. Too tired apologizing, keeping me uping all nighting- criming by wasting my precious timing. Straggling against what I once called charming.”
“If there's a book that you want to read, but it hasn't been written yet, then you must write it.”
“...just friends, over and over you said it again—-then you kissed me.”
“Every secret of a writer's soul, every experience of his life, every quality of his mind is written large in his works.”
