The other day at work, I found a perfectly intact gerbera daisy on the floor, so I wore it in my hair for the remainder of my shift. Then I dried it and pressed it in my thoughts journal. The other pages are filled with scribbles and rough handwriting, but this page is clean and simple and it describes how I felt on that day
Anis Mojgani, “Here Am I” [x] (via larmoyante)
I have the mind of a child
Asking, why is 2 + 3 always equal to 5?
Where do people go to when they die?
What made the beauty of the moon?
And the beauty of the sea?
Did that beauty make you?
Did that beauty make me?
Will that make me something?
Will I be something?
Am I something?
And the answer comes: you already are, you always, always were, and you still have time to be.