I’ve forgotten who I was, And at this point in time I’m not sure it matters if I once jumped out of a car on a red light because the guy behind me had been tailgating me. Or that I used to laugh in inappropriate places, And that I always jumped out of bed as soon as I awoke, happily counting on the wishes, waiting impatiently on my nightstand, to be fulfilled. None of these things matter now Because when I wake up in the morning I choose to be who I am And it is

Insecurity There are paintings on the wall abstract, strange things that make no sense to me tell me nothing about the world, or about you, just lines and colours organised or in disarray. You tell me there is a box in the attic filled with scarves and old things, but when I open the box all I see is a picture of you. It’s black and white looks like it was taken in a different era back in the days when men wore top hats, opened doors for a lady and then tied her to a stove fo

The Icelandic word “Söknuður” is a noun and I find it hard to translate to English. In the “ordabok.is” it’s translated as “regret; nostalgia” and that fits somewhat - and yet not at all because in my mind the word “Söknuður” doesn’t have as much to do with the past as Nostalgia does and it doesn’t connote the idea of having done something you wish you hadn’t at all. This song actually titled “Söknuður” might be the best way to explain the word and I’m pretty sure that even t