Life has a distinct phenomenological quality of openness, immediacy, and malleability when you're fifteen or sixteen, before you and the world fully determine one another and congeal into the tepid, stultifying condition of “life in the real world.”
i'm the driver of my destiny. trust me, i’ve tried to hand the wheel over. no one has risen to the task of taking me somewhere profoundly fulfilling, no matter how hard i begged or how long i waited. it's freeing to acknowledge that nobody belongs to you. the journey's (yours) .
Blanchot:
“Very close to me was a great unhappiness, as silent as a real unhappiness can be, beyond all help, unknown, and which nothing could cause to appear.”
El morbo de la clandestinidad es bueno hasta cierto punto, pero se vuelve nocivo cuando la jerarquía de tus prioridades las eleva en un nivel que no le corresponde. Es una lástima que solo se tenga en mente la validación superficial.