Lazy Days and Summer Nights

5,891 notes

It feels good to think about you when I’m warm in bed. I feel as if you’re curled up there beside me, fast asleep. And I think how great it would be if it were true.
Haruki Murakami (via hellanne)

(via dancreed)

510,711 notes

godstoy: This. I must rant: Six years ago, before everything started, I was a brilliant kid. I would draw, write, play the piano and everything came from the inside, nobody taught me (my parents were against it) and it made me happy. Slowly, depression sneaked in, and I started losing my talent, the very little I had. Before that I would pass all my tests without even looking at the testbook. Now I can’t concentrate and I fail practically everything, I can’t play more than 5 minutes straight the piano and my creativity is absolutely gone, which has left me with nothing, because art was all I had. I sleep way too much and wake up tired. So I went from a kid who shined and was admired to someone who is constantly disappointing people, because they expect me to be as good as I was before, and I aren’t anymore. I can’t. I can’t study, I can’t rest, I can’t create. Literally, a part of me is dead, and I can’t help it. It makes me so sad.

godstoy:

This. I must rant:

Six years ago, before everything started, I was a brilliant kid. I would draw, write, play the piano and everything came from the inside, nobody taught me (my parents were against it) and it made me happy. Slowly, depression sneaked in, and I started losing my talent, the very little I had. Before that I would pass all my tests without even looking at the testbook. Now I can’t concentrate and I fail practically everything, I can’t play more than 5 minutes straight the piano and my creativity is absolutely gone, which has left me with nothing, because art was all I had. I sleep way too much and wake up tired. So I went from a kid who shined and was admired to someone who is constantly disappointing people, because they expect me to be as good as I was before, and I aren’t anymore.

I can’t. I can’t study, I can’t rest, I can’t create. Literally, a part of me is dead, and I can’t help it. It makes me so sad.

(Source: lnsanely, via thirty--twoskinny)