mistressofcupcakes-blog

[mistressofcupcakes-blog]

Almost winter #istanbul (at İskele İzmir Lokmacısı)

[mistressofcupcakes-blog]

Things that makes me happy right nao

[mistressofcupcakes-blog]

It's not that bad actually, but it's true, when an heart breaks it don't breakeven.

[mistressofcupcakes-blog]

[mistressofcupcakes-blog]

Ele & Jem

[mistressofcupcakes-blog]

[mistressofcupcakes-blog]

Istanbul like Ithaca.

Ithaca

by Chostantine P.Cavafy

When you set out on your journey to Ithaca, pray that the road is long, full of adventure, full of knowledge.

The Lestrygonians and the Cyclops,

the angry Poseidon -- do not fear them: You will never find such as these on your path, if your thoughts remain lofty, if a fine emotion touches your spirit and your body. The Lestrygonians and the Cyclops, the fierce Poseidon you will never encounter, if you do not carry them within your soul, if your soul does not set them up before you. Pray that the road is long. That the summer mornings are many, when, with such pleasure, with such joy you will enter ports seen for the first time; stop at Phoenician markets, and purchase fine merchandise, mother-of-pearl and coral, amber, and ebony, and sensual perfumes of all kinds, as many sensual perfumes as you can; visit many Egyptian cities, to learn and learn from scholars. Always keep Ithaca on your mind. To arrive there is your ultimate goal. But do not hurry the voyage at all. It is better to let it last for many years; and to anchor at the island when you are old, rich with all you have gained on the way, not expecting that Ithaca will offer you riches. Ithaca has given you the beautiful voyage. Without her you would have never set out on the road. She has nothing more to give you. And if you find her poor, Ithaca has not deceived you. Wise as you have become, with so much experience, you must already have understood what these Ithacas mean.

[mistressofcupcakes-blog]

I lied.

I never lie, you know, I'm unable to lie even when it would be the easiest way.

But I lied unconsciously. I won't come for you.

I'll come for me.

And I won't come to make things different and better for US. I'll make things better for ME. 

I'm coming to kill the fantasy, to kill everything good I attached to you. Cause you are a lost cause, a lost man, a lost dream. You don't deserve my affection and my attentions simply because you don't care. why should I then? You are not my real problem, you are just a distraction where I relocated all my pain, all my emotions. 

You are the easy way. But I just want a real life, I don't want to dream anymore. 

[mistressofcupcakes-blog]

[mistressofcupcakes-blog]

“I can write the saddest poem of all tonight. Write, for instance: "The night is full of stars, and the stars, blue, shiver in the distance." The night wind whirls in the sky and sings. I can write the saddest poem of all tonight. I loved her, and sometimes she loved me too. On nights like this, I held her in my arms. I kissed her so many times under the infinite sky. She loved me, sometimes I loved her. How could I not have loved her large, still eyes? I can write the saddest poem of all tonight. To think I don't have her. To feel that I've lost her. To hear the immense night, more immense without her. And the poem falls to the soul as dew to grass. What does it matter that my love couldn't keep her. The night is full of stars and she is not with me. That's all. Far away, someone sings. Far away. My soul is lost without her. As if to bring her near, my eyes search for her. My heart searches for her and she is not with me. The same night that whitens the same trees. We, we who were, we are the same no longer. I no longer love her, true, but how much I loved her. My voice searched the wind to touch her ear. Someone else's. She will be someone else's. As she once belonged to my kisses. Her voice, her light body. Her infinite eyes. I no longer love her, true, but perhaps I love her. Love is so short and oblivion so long. Because on nights like this I held her in my arms, my soul is lost without her. Although this may be the last pain she causes me, and this may be the last poem I write for her.”

― Pablo Neruda

[mistressofcupcakes-blog]

My mind - My cage

[mistressofcupcakes-blog]

Most beatiful city in the world!

[mistressofcupcakes-blog]

[mistressofcupcakes-blog]

Some people turn sad awfully young. No special reason, it seems, but they seem almost to be born that way. They bruise easier, tire faster, cry quicker, remember longer and, as I say, get sadder younger than anyone else in the world. I know, for I’m one of them.

Ray Bradbury (via rawfuel)

[mistressofcupcakes-blog]

Things are sweeter when they’re lost. I know—because once I wanted something and got it. It was the only thing I ever wanted badly…And when I got it it turned to dust in my hands.

F. Scott Fitzgerald, The Beautiful and Damned  (via sorakeem)

[mistressofcupcakes-blog]

Like Sehnsucht.

[mistressofcupcakes-blog]

“And one by one the nights between our separated cities are joined to the night that unites us.” (Perché era la Notte quello che ci univa)

P.Neruda