Íslenska means icelandic, an indo european language belonging to the Nordic branch of the Germanic languages.
it's fuuny how a heart ache can make u love languages, make u belive in mom's bedtime story of angels and demons and how strong intution can be.
Það er sárt að láta fara. Stundum virðist það erfiðara að reyna að halda í eitthvað eða einhver meira það vill komast burt. Þú finnur eins og einhvers konar glæpamaður fyrir að hafa fundið, fyrir að hafa vildi. Fyrir að hafa langað til að vera vildi. Það ruglar þig, því þú heldur að tilfinningar þínar voru rangar og það gerir þér finnst svo lítið því það er svo erfitt að halda henni inni þegar þú lætur það út og það kemur ekki aftur. Þú ert vinstri svo einn sem þú getur ekki útskýrt. Fjandinn, það er ekkert eins og þessi, er það? Ég hef verið þarna og þú hefur líka. Og ég, ég er að bíða enn?
Ég er örugglega ... amk held ég.
It hurts to let go. Sometimes it seems the harder you try to hold on to something or someone the more it wants to get away. You feel like some kind of criminal for having felt, for having wanted. For having wanted to be wanted. It confuses you, because you think that your feelings were wrong and it makes you feel so small because it's so hard to keep it inside when you let it out and it doesn't come back. You're left so alone that you can't explain. Damn, there's nothing like that, is there? I've been there and you have too. And I, am I still waiting?
I surely am ...least I think so .
it's fuuny how a heart ache can make u love languages, make u belive in mom's bedtime story of angels and demons and how strong intution can be.
“I think you still love me, but we can’t escape the fact that I’m not enough for you. I knew this was going to happen. So I’m not blaming you for falling in love with another woman. I’m not angry, either. I should be, but I’m not. I just feel pain. A lot of pain. I thought I could imagine how much this would hurt, but I was wrong.”
― Haruki Murakami, South of the Border, West of the Sun
― Haruki Murakami, South of the Border, West of the Sun
Ég er örugglega ... amk held ég.
It hurts to let go. Sometimes it seems the harder you try to hold on to something or someone the more it wants to get away. You feel like some kind of criminal for having felt, for having wanted. For having wanted to be wanted. It confuses you, because you think that your feelings were wrong and it makes you feel so small because it's so hard to keep it inside when you let it out and it doesn't come back. You're left so alone that you can't explain. Damn, there's nothing like that, is there? I've been there and you have too. And I, am I still waiting?
I surely am ...least I think so .
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