pyjamac:

no this isn’t about being in love. it’s about clouds, and how nothing ever ends because nothing ever begins and i am made out of everything i’ve ever done or been or known and im like a russian nesting doll of person bc im made of me five years ago and me ten years ago and im made of my father and his father too and im made of coffee and every memory i’ve ever had but im also still me and separate, and how hundreds of years ago there were people who lived their very own lives and we didn’t know them but we know they were real bc they built houses and how my house used to belong to a rector and i didn’t know him but i know he was real bc he left books in the basement and i like to think about how he probably sat at his kitchen table and looked out the window just like i sit at my kitchen table and look out the window.

pyjamac:

oh my gd folx guess what? everything is romantic. weather. conservation of mass. buildings. i stirred sweetened condensed milk into my coffee and wept.