I often feel suffocated by my own endless, nonstop thoughts, odd imaginations, reality of the universe, humanity, visuality of certain things that I'm trying to figure out. It never stops. Sometimes, I'm wondering why I'm still sane because I think my mind is beyond sanity that will lead to insanity.

I love the musky smell of books, kinda addicted of it.

I love when it's raining.

I love reading. That's what makes me forget a bit of painful reality. Plus, I'm so indulged in books that I even forgot that I have a real life ahead me.

















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