Everday life of a fallen philosopher
- Reads 18
- Votes 2
- Parts 5
Ongoing1h 8m
Last published Sun, May 5, 2024
Time is passing. Days are fading, nights are awakening. People never stop. Like them, thoughts never stop. I walk through the city, but ideas of great old philosophers haunt me, the kind of philosophers I am not. Nonetheless, I constantly think about that peculiar city and even more peculiar human race. It never leaves me alone. It fucking never leaves me alone.
*Note: All of it is originally written in Croatian so please ignore any mistakes in the translation.
All Rights Reserved
#336
philosophy
Join the largest storytelling communityGet personalized story recommendations, save your favourites to your library, and comment and vote to grow your community.
You may also like
The View from 3 AM
The world is loudest when the city is quietest. At 3 AM, with the rain falling outside my window and the empty coffee mug beside me, I finally stop running. This is where my thoughts gather-the uncomfortable, the honest, the deeply personal truths about my life since you left. This book is the unfiltered transcript of those lonely hours. It's an inventory of old habits and empty spaces, a collection of unsent texts, vivid memories, and the awkward, necessary steps of building a self I no longer recognize. It's not a guide to getting over it; it's simply what it feels like to be in the thick of it. This is what I thought, what I felt, and what I realized when the sun wasn't watching. Enjoy reading, loves. ♡⃛![ʆƴfཛ [COMPLETED ✅]](https://img.wattpad.com/cover/91262373-256-k123775.jpg)
ʆƴfཛ [COMPLETED ✅]
Some of my random poetry that associates on the struggles I've faced in my life! Everything you read is mine. Please don't steal or plagiarize. Thank You! *the photo in the cover is actually mine. I took it when I went to Paris over the summer! *References explicit language, read at your own risk. Don't read if any of the the subject matters scares you. For the author safety, please make sure you are fine with explicit language and descriptions of depression or sexual content. For it may involve within the book figuratively. Thank you!*Complete
The Silence After Coffee
💔 The Silence After Coffee Two souls once in love find themselves back where it all began - a quiet café, seven years after their goodbye. Rica, a writer who left to rebuild her life abroad, returns home seeking closure. Jay, the man she once walked away from, still carries the echo of what they were. Over cold cups of coffee and unspoken memories, they finally say the words they never had the courage to before - their apologies, their truths, their last "thank you." In the silence that follows, they discover that some love stories aren't meant to last forever. Some are meant to teach you how to let go - gently, completely, and with peace. Because not all endings are happy. But some endings heal. And sometimes... the silence after coffee is where love truly says goodbye.Complete
Memoir, She Wrote.
She appeared on a quiet afternoon in Bandung, a stranger with calm eyes and a story she never told. From that moment, the city felt different. The air heavier, the light softer. Between the hum of motorcycles, the clinking of coffee cups, and the silence that followed, he begins to understand that some people enter your life not to stay, but to change the way you see the world.
ONE MIND
This book exists because thought moves faster than expression. Ideas, sensations, realizations - they happen in your mind before words can catch them. Most of life forces us to compress, translate, simplify. This is not just limitation; it's necessity. You can feel, perceive, and understand what cannot yet be shared. What you hold inside, whatever this is, feels closer, more real than the external world. But thought alone is invisible. It slips, blurs, dissipates unless captured. That is the purpose here: to preserve what cannot otherwise exist outside the mind. You will notice this book is scattered, layered, recursive. It's not a narrative. It is a map - a field of thought, a translation of consciousness into something tangible. You are not just reading words. You are entering a mind.
Tethered
Bright lights, the beat of the music beneath my feet. Distant chatter, quite whispers. The feeling of joy, loss, heartbreak, and loneliness surround me. Buried in a crowd, drowning under the gazes of people who look through you. I am but of glass, a mirror if you will, willing to be seen through, but not seen. Screaming in a room full of people when no one can hear you, let alone see you. Hidden breaths, rising, falling. Isn't that funny, falling? Laughing would be easier than standing here in the crowded place, filled with people, faces, judging every moment the other makes. I could tell you the peace I get standing alone in a room filled with people who only see you as a mirror for who they don't want to be. I could cry tears of blood, and non would ever so much bat an eye in my direction, but I love it. The feeling of being unseen as to appose being seen for the matieral object I once was. Silent, unmoving, unwilling. I am but an idea, glass, shatterable, broken beyond compare. But strong, resistance flows through me. Willing me to be the best I can be, but can I? Who says I make sense, who says I am even me, am I? That's a question I spent years wondering. Who would I be without these scars that tether my skin, marking each even, like a calender. To mend the feelings people have isn't a easy thing, but to break is easy, always easy. How easy it is to forget, to run. I can feel the ground beneath my feet, feel the soil in-between the crooks of my toes, I could describe to you the smell of the rain. Pinpoint the center of the earth, but as I stand here, again amongst the crowd of people stand in this room. I am lost again, an idea, but for what purpose? If I could run, navigate my way through this crowd, I would seek refuge somewhere dark and cold, where I could take off this cloak and be one with who I am, or want to be.
I Know
Every time I need to pour out those unsaid words, every time my heart needs to bleed....I take a deep breath and start writing. Each chapter here is a scream of my weeping heart. But there's no denying that these are the moments that made me who I am today. I have always admired writers who are not afraid to show the world their deepest insecurities. it intrigues me , the courage they have to be so vulnerable. But along the way I realized, that they can do so cause they have nothing more to lose. They have already lived their darkest nightmares. I wish to be courageous like them, I wish to connect with people with my words, I want them to know me by my words. And this book is my secret passage to that destination.Complete
Afterrain
There's something about the smell of rain - that soft, earthy whisper just before the clouds burst. Poets call it petrichor, an elegant name for a fleeting memory: the earth exhaling in a moment you can never quite hold. It's always fleeting. Rain comes, rain goes, and the scent lingers only a heartbeat before fading. That's life, isn't it? Fleeting. Here. Gone. Lovely and cruel in the same breath. This book is my attempt to bottle that scent - moments that mean nothing and everything all at once. Not grand stories where heroes save kingdoms, but the way your heartbeat slows under a tin roof, streetlights turn to halos in the fog, or a memory of someone you loved returns with a passing scent. The stories are stitched together like raindrops on a window - separate, yet connected by the way they fall. They're about people, places, and memories that drift into view during a storm and vanish when the sun breaks through. You'll meet strangers, lovers, ghosts, and perhaps even yourself between these lines. You'll walk down wet streets, feel the cold seep into your shoes, and taste tea too hot from impatience. Rain follows you, not in gloom, but like a quiet friend who knows when to pause. Sometimes there's heartbreak, because rain draws it out. But sometimes, joy: dancing in empty car parks, laughing under a rebellious umbrella, standing soaked and alive. The phrase Afterrain came to me one morning when I opened my kitchen window. The scent rose from the wet garden and hit me like a memory I couldn't name. Many things in my life have felt like that - sharp, vivid, unforgettable, and then gone. Not just rain. People. Moments. Feelings. If this book were a perfume, you'd stumble upon it - in the rain, in the street, in a pause between breaths. My job is to help you notice it, and maybe see the beauty in how it slips away.
The world is loudest when the city is quietest. At 3 AM, with the rain falling outside my window and the empty coffee mug beside me, I finally stop running. This is where my thoughts gather-the uncomfortable, the honest, the deeply personal truths about my life since you left. This book is the unfiltered transcript of those lonely hours. It's an inventory of old habits and empty spaces, a collection of unsent texts, vivid memories, and the awkward, necessary steps of building a self I no longer recognize. It's not a guide to getting over it; it's simply what it feels like to be in the thick of it. This is what I thought, what I felt, and what I realized when the sun wasn't watching. Enjoy reading, loves. ♡⃛
More detailsContent Guidelines