I call my life a beautiful mess and organised chaos. Its just always been like that. My entire life things have been attracted to me and vice versa that turn into chaotic nightmares or I create the chaos myself.
Well, it kind of hurts when the kind of words you write And kind of turn themselves into knives And don't mind my nerve you can call it fiction 'Cause I like being submerged in your contradictions, dear 'Cause here we are, here we are Although you were biased, I love your advice Your comebacks they're quick and probably Have to do with your insecurities There's no shame in being crazy depending on how you take these Words they're paraphrasing this relationship we're staging And it's a beautiful mess, yes, it is It's like we're picking up trash in dresses
Embrace the beautiful mess that you are.
You are a beautiful mess, you are the melody.
Make a beautiful mess and clean it up later.
The brain is a monstrous, beautiful mess.
People are complicated; you put two of them together and it's generally a mess, but hopefully a beautiful mess.
On, there are so many lives. How we wish we could live them concurrently instead of one by one by one. We could select the best pieces of each, stringing them together like a strand of pearls. But that's not how it works. A human life is a beautiful mess.
The brain is a monstrous, beautiful mess. Its billions of nerve cells - called neurons - lie in a tangled web that displays cognitive powers far exceeding any of the silicon machines we have built to mimic it.
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