Why bother to continue, when you can't make me a part of your life, when you can't make time, when you aren't 1% curious about me, when you don't care what, where, with whom I am.
It’s both beautiful and unsettling that everyone lives as the protagonist of their own story, often unintentionally turning even others’ moments—like grief—back toward themselves.
I’ll do almost anything to avoid studying—to disappear into some fictional world. Because when I finally sit down in silence to focus, there’s nothing to distract me. And I’m forced to confront how alone I feel.