I always feel as if I’m struggling to become someone else. As if I’m trying to find a new place, grab hold of a new life, a new personality. I suppose it’s part of growing up, yet it’s also an attempt to re-invent 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 think that lack itself is as close as I’ll come to defining myself. —Haruki Murakami, South of the Border, West of the Sun (via napred)

heartisbreaking:

京都の春 by sunnywinds* on Flickr.

fluoric:

hanami/tsuyama (by Nazra Z.)

rainingteadrops:

春夏秋冬の富士山 (by 长腿叔叔)

The thing I’m most afraid of is me. Of not knowing what I’m going to do. Of not knowing what I’m doing right now. —Haruki Murakami, 1Q84 (via larmoyante)

jongmeeee:

MEW MEW MEW

I decided to do some pattern work so here ya go

cat doesn’t want to get out of nice warm bath [x]

aausten