I Love The Mountains.

let it be so.

the autumnal urge to run away in the cold season somewhere in a small enchanted village where no one knows you, with forests and small streams and bridges and wooden huts and open fires surrounded by nature and old buildings, cobblestones and mysterious antique shops, cosy little cafés and an ancient library

why do i feel so good about it? >•<

I'll figure it out, but let me panic first -

“magic isnt real” — plants just grow out of the ground. for free. everywhere.

i want to be mysterious but like in a cute way. i want people to know i’m kind and gentle, but at the same time i want to wear a long black coat and want people to look at me and whisper to each other “nobody knows anything about this woman. she lives alone and doesn’t talk much. stay away from her” but then mothers would bring their sick children to me so i could heal them with my mysterious cryptic healing powers because i am the witch of the town.

“If you’re happy in a dream, does that count?”

— Arundhati Roy, The God of Small Things

"my darling, you will never be unloved by me you are too well tangled in my soul"

— Atticus

“It is better to be yourself and have no friends than to be like your friends and have no self.”

— Unknown