My migraine was delivered to me straight from the seventh level of Hell. Just fucking kill me now. Please.
Current Mood: 
irritated
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l'esperienza de questa dolce vita
The most important things are the hardest to say. They are the things you get ashamed of, because words diminish them. Words shrink things that seemed limitless. When they were in your head to no more than living size when they are brought out. But it's more than that, isn't it? The most important things lie too close to wherever your secret heart is buried, and you may make revelations that cost you dearly. Only to have people look at you in a funny way, not understanding that you almost cried while you were saying it. That's the worst, I think. When the secret stay's locked within; not for a want of a teller, but for an understanding ear.