(via whereismyoscar)
(Source: hiddlestonstom, via whereismyoscar)
Everything’s a mere semblance of its former self. Tonight, I struggle with the thought that nothing is true and one thing is just a vessel of borrowed parts, whether cobbled awkwardly or repackaged under a guise. We steal away through the passage of time and space, backwards and forth, itching for some self-absorbed goal. Quick to judge, quicker to cash in on the next big thing. Until the next one jostles it out of the limelight and into some irreverent clockwork with all the former trophies, till the era rediscovers a use for it again.
