ece
@moonyreads
into the mystic
she/her. infj.
Şu anda okuduğu kitaplar
All those leaves, all these details. How long have I been blind to them? How long have my surroundings and the natural world been lavishing on me a generosity I have been completely incapable of receiving? What a waste of beauty on a dead soul.
Reklam
There is something so uninhibited and intoxicating about the truth. Being able to expose yourself, reveal all your flaws while declaring here I am, this is me.
Daylight puts a different slant on everything, makes it seem unreal. Was she actually in a bar with a man who said he was being pursued by a nun? She shakes her head. Spain, she thinks, Spain. Things tend to get distorted; it’s the heat.
The portrait he has been painting is too bizarre for her to visualize. Though it also occurs to her that anyone who writes knows the cliché “Truth is stranger than fiction” contains a great deal of wisdom. The image of the hate-filled nun with the maimed hand is intriguing.
