I always feel like I’m struggling to become someone else. Like I’m trying to find a new place, grab hold of a new life, a new personality. I guess it’s part of growing up, yet it’s also an attempt to reinvent myself. By becoming a different me, I could free myself of everything. I seriously believed I could escape myself - as long as I made the effort. But I always hit a dead end. No matter where I go, I still end up me. What’s missing never changes. The scenery may change, but I’m still the same old incomplete person. The same missing elements torture me with a hunger that I can never satisfy. I guess that lack itself is as close as I’ll come to defining myself.
- Haruki Murakami || South of the Border, West of the Sun 

(Source: ntrvrts, via afghangst)

"Republicans don't like you, or black people" really now? 

Yeap, that’s what I said equestrianrepublican

Adonai | ♥