Lana Del Rey is just so gorgeous it fucking hurts.
After listening to her song, Ride and Summertime Sadness, there's this overwhelming desire that washes over me craving for escape. And this feeling is once more magnified as I am in the throes of feeling poorly sentimental, like creatures burying water in the sand before the drought, hiding relics under the ground for strangers to tread upon them mercilessly.
I want to run away from it all, but I'm a fucking coward. It will never happen for me.
Where would I go? I'm not dreamer enough, I lack a dreamer's courage - unchained by reality and rational thoughts of money, of possibilities and most of all, of the consequences. As much as I want to run, I have no where to go. No place will take me and so I am trapped. A pathetic weed forever cursed to remain their whole existence in the same unmoving plane of thought, of tangible physicality.
I would love to run.
Pity though,
I'd run out of breath.
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