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“She's like smoke:you think you're seeing her clearly enough,but when you reach for her there's nothing there”


I feel so out of control when the seasons start to change, just a small reminder of how time is really moving at its own pace whether we are for or against its speed at that moment. Usually, I don’t ever want to wish it away and am always caught off guard at its pace

(Source: clemence-poesy, via mab-f)