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قديم 10-28-2018, 02:07 AM   #1

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تاريخ التسجيل: Jun 2011
الإقامة: KSA
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افتراضي The Haunting of Hill House

 



Fear is the relinquishment of logic, the willing relinquishing of reasonable patterns.
We yield to it or we fight it.
But we cannot meet it halfway.



Some people say goodbye.
or you could tell a story.

What kind of story?

Whatever you like.
You know how when you take one of your pictures, you capture something forever, just the way it is? Stories do that, too.
So when we die we turn into stories.
And every time someone tells one of those stories, it's like we're still here for them.
We're all stories in the end.



And this kid... she built up so many emotional walls.
She just needed help and no one was listening.



So that's what recovery is, you know? It's the same thing over and over again, in spite of the result, or in spite of a backslide or in spite of a full-fledged fucking relapse.
Doesn't mean you stop just 'cause it gets a little repetitive.
One day at a time.



Just because someone's a good person, just because you care about them doesn't mean they won't burn you.



I broke a mug once.
I'm not supposed to have things that are fragile.
And this looks fragile.



You know some religions won't let you be buried in their cemeteries if you kill yourself?
It's monstrous.
Like you committed a crime.
When really it was just that you're in so much pain.
So much pain.



I have enough of my own grief.
I I don't need yours, too.



I was right here.
I didn't go anywhere.
I was right here.
I was right here the whole time.
None of you could see me.
Nobody could see me.



I've always needed someone to keep me grounded, get me out of my head.



Forgiveness is warm.
Like a tear on a cheek.
Think of that and of me when you stand in the rain.
I loved you completely.
And you loved me the same.
That's all.
The rest is confetti.



This house, which seemed somehow to have formed itself, flying together in its own powerful pattern under the hands of its builders reared its great head back against the sky without concession to humanity.
It was a house without kindness, never meant to be lived in, not a fit place for people, or for love, or for hope.



And I fell in love with that house, and with houses, all at once.
I can live there forever, I thought.
No one will ever find me there, either.
I will light a fire in the cool evenings and toast apples in my own hearth.
People will come to me to have their fortunes told, and I will brew love potions for sad maidens.



We did that.
We loved each other so well that it spread out into the universe and it created a new star.
Stars die.
The night sky is full of dead stars.
They explode to death.
And if you could reach up with some great hand and pull them down just before they burst, you would.
Yes, I would.
We're all safe now.
This is our forever house.
It always was.
Nothing bad will ever touch them ever again.
Nothing good will, either.



Love is the relinquishment of logic the willing relinquishing of reasonable patterns.
We yield to it or we fight it.
But we cannot meet it halfway.

https://www.springfieldspringfield.c...ill-house-2018

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