me: i had a nice train ride
(1 week later)
my 🧠: here's a nightmare containing all your feelings about everything that could possibly go wrong superimposed over a scene of missing your train
me:
my 🧠: enjoy your next train ride
63/ When I thought of truth, I thought, not of an absolute, but of something precarious, nebulous, ever changing. Truth, it seemed, was something with a hundred faces. Truth was a needle in a haystack. Truth was lies.