When you know someone. Someone that’s actually beautiful in her own way but a way that’s relatable on a whole other level. But she chooses not to be. She chooses to be insanely alive. Alive, if you know what I mean. She’s not perfect in the sense that is the cultural definition of perfect. She was actually pretty fucked but now she’s grown. And you can respect that because she doesn’t even know it yet. She is close hearted but open at the same time. Vulnerable to the wrong people but never to you. She’s frustrating but you can’t stop being addicted to her sense of being. It’s not love. Could be infatuation. But we both know it’s just your souls ever growing curiosity of wanting your being to be as bright as hers.
The years between eighteen and twenty-eight are the hardest, psychologically. It’s then you realize this is make or break, you no longer have the excuse of youth, and it is time to become an adult – but you are not ready.— Helen Mirren (via eatyourheartoutfreud)