do you ever get mad at yourself because you’re not even good at the things you thought you were good at


I wonder how many stranger’s stories we make it into? You know maybe someone saw you in passing and told their friends about how pretty the girl in the lavender sweater was. Or maybe they overheard you say a joke and repeated it to their friend confessing that they heard it from some guy at the store. 

Poetry is an echo, asking a shadow to dance.
― Carl Sandburg (via rabbitinthemoon)

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