Sunday, 4 December 2016

Being someone.


When we least expect things to happen, they happen.

And then who are we, the same person who we used to be? 

Every cell I was born with is probably dead by now, I am made of things that keep dying, and new ones replace them; and then there are those things inside me, which always had a brain of their own. 

Then I see him and my heartbeat is not mine anymore. 


"but in our story,
who is the monster at the end of the book?
oh my love, the monster is time."
-AJ
Courtesy: Free
Photograph: Anna