I spend my nights finding faces in the purple paint on my wall.
Their eerie distortions created from the moon-dust that falls through my open window.
Sometimes, I give them names and uncover each of their hidden stories, buried deep inside the walls.

Shadows lurk in the hallways, still. With their quiet but chilling whispers.
They love to taunt me.

I feel it's time to write. Scribble my thoughts and ideas down, finally.
But I can't find the words.


emma watson.

(i'm sorry. i had to post these. i absolutely adore her. she is the definition of perfection.)