Moi

Je suis une jeune femme douce et patiente.

How small we are.

Here is a cool thing:
This is a billion pixel photo of the Andromeda galaxy, captured with the NASA/ESA Hubble Space Telescope.
You can zoom in and see how crowed the univers is. (click here to open it in a new tab!)
More info here.

We all are monsters in the end.

Boredom

It won't go. It never goes. the feeling of emptiness, of uselessness. Doubting to have the strengh to do something, anything. Writting and erasing a hundred times, never happy.
Fighting the inevitable, fighting that voice that will come before sleep, reminding you that whatever you did, it wasn't good enough. It's never good enough. They're better than you, they're stronger than you, they're more beautiful, more intelligent. They're faster and smarter.
And alone in the dark all you can do is grit your teeth and hold on.
then Guilt comes in, and you feel ashamed not to be able to enjoy what you have and who you are. And then pride will shout back, saying that you're better than that! You're better than this self-deprecation.
And here you're are. in the middle of the storm, desperately looking for something to hold on.

And you're running forward, trying to get yourself tired enough to make the voices go. and sometimes it works. When every cell of your body aches, you finally find peace. For a moment, the voices are quiet.

I'm bored.
The voices overwelmed my brain, and here I am. There are so many things I should be doing. And yet I'm here, hoping that something will happen.
Letargy robbed me of my strengh, any kind of motivation.
I'm bored.
And now, I'll have to deal with the voices.
It will be a long night.

Something went terribly wrong here.

WHAT HAPPENED TO YOU TOM?!

I feel betrayed. Tom is one of us! He is a slytherin! Something happened!
Let me explain something to you. Slytherin is great. Well, appart from the "dark-side/coward/pureblood"  element, we are great.
Because we're familly. Like the Huffies, if the sorting hat says you're a slytherin, then no one will question it. We'll stick together, because you're one of us! No need to proove yourself, to show that you worth who knows what.
We praise cunning and ambition. If you want something, you'll do whatever you can to make it happen. You'll put your heart in what you believe in and make great things.
So no. I'm sorry but as kind and brave as he can be, Tom Felton is a slytherin. At least, to us, he is one.
STICK WITH US TOM, WE HAVE TEA AND BISCUITS!

That's pretty accurate.

What I say:     I'm bored
What I mean:     None of my usual hobbies are stimulating enough for me anymore because i am dead inside and i am desperately craving human interaction in a vain attempt to keep myself from slipping into the abyss of insanity.

I am afraid.

I live in Paris, I work in Paris.

Some of my friends are cartoonists
Some are journalists
Some are muslim,
Some are cops

And today, I'm afraid for all of them.

Please, be safe,
Please, be kind.
Don't let the fear cloud you judgement.

Tastes like sweet old depression

Keep busy,
at all cost,
keep busy.

I busy myself with more than one life.
I don't want to have time to think.
because when I do, it's usually bad news.

I dance, I read, I write, I run,
anything, as long as it prevents me from thinking too much.
For when I do, it's harder to keep the shadows at bay.

I made choices,
good ones and bad ones.
They brought me here,
and now, I don't know what else to do,
except to go ahead.

The slightest moment of idleness brings back the memories, the doubts,
The feeling that I waste my time, which is already too rare.

I know those shadows, that always lure somewhere in the dark.
They're good old enemies.
I can rely on them, they'll always be here for me.

I keep my distance with those I like,
For I don't want to be a burden,
For I don't have strength enough to do better.

Lately it's been harder to get up,
harder to get the job done,
harder to convince myself to go ahead,
to put one foot in front of the other.

The numbness started weeks ago,
But in the maelstorm of events, I could hardly feel it.
Now it's here, and even breathing seems painful.
The voices are stronger,
they shout, they argue.

I write so I don't stay curled up in my bed.

It tastes like sweet old depression.
Hi there, Ô my dear old enemy, my oldest friend.
I suppose I'll have to walk with you.

Dead men don't talk.

I lost someone, years ago.
It felt like having me inside torn and taken away.
I felt hollow and that hurt.

I knew someone,
who caused me great pain,
He stole precious things inside me.

I did terrible things,
long ago when I thought it didn't matter anymore.
There was a man, who drowned me as much as he saved me

But I got over it,
Eventually.

It all faded in that strange thing we call the past.
To me, they're all dead.

Dead men don't talk
and if I hear their voice,
it's only the whisper of my old self
calling like a sirenn.

But I know the trick
I see the similarities and push them away,
I lock them in the damp vault where I locked the dead men.

The last man of the company.

what happened to us?
we used to be strong and patient.
what happened to us?
who led when no one could.

I walked miles and miles
hoping to find a haven
where finally I could lay
but still, I am restless
and the road ahead calls me.

The stars who once shone so brightly
are now pale and shivering.
the shadows, quiet and cold
are luring outside.

what happened to us?
who used to bring the light.
what happened to us?
who used to carry shields and swords.

I remember our journey
the sound of our steps on the stone path,
why is the night so quiet?
where did I got lost?

For I don't know
what happend to my fallen brothers.
I now shall bear the flag alone,
in the darkness and beyond.