The other day I came home late and saw a cockroach scurrying in the darkness. I thought it must have just finished work and wanted to get home quickly.
I'm almost certain that's how Kafka conceived of The Metamorphosis.
It's not exactly what I expected of myself, you know? I was looking for a different life, and it's painful. But I think I'm tired and I just want to do something right.
Dear Ardonl: I'm not drunk enough to write to you, but I'm still a little tipsy. I love you, and I appreciate every little lie you tell yourself daily to stay alive. Someday we'll be happy. With love, Alo
Update: Wattpad got nerfed.
There aren't any writers like there used to be. This just proves you can go back to where you were happy, but nothing guarantees things will be as good as before.
He shouldn't have died; it makes me sad to think about it. If I could, I'd switch places with him. I didn't know you before, Oliver, but I like your music. I wish I could tell you that and how wonderful your life seemed to me.
I want to talk about Oliver Tree.
I don't think I had any idea who he was until he died. Dude, he studied at CalArts. He had a great career. And he died.
God, I don't know why I feel this way; when I listen to his music I can't help but get sad and think about it over and over again. It should have been me, dude. He had a great life, he was living the dream, he studied at CalArts... It should have been me, dude.