Finding people who can talk at length about the inane bits of life that fill you with joy is the meaning of living.
Sometimes I’m him. Other times I’m her. I should be nicer to people.
Nothing makes sense anymore. Up is down. Down is fine. Sometimes I feel like I’m an audience of one in a world of bad improv.
The distance between our hands and our mouths has never been farther apart.
I couldn’t be further from the truth.
Life is compromise and rationalization. You convince yourself that what you have is what you want. Everybody wins.
Was I this person once already before? Before what? Again how?
The real question is moot.
That’s all I want to hear. To be recognized, acknowledge. As evidence that I exist.
I think I love you too.
Life is a series of compromises until the insurmountable inertia keeping you down becomes a 40 year old man making powerpoint presentations.
It’s hard to confront the people you love. But why else should you love them except that they love you for who you are?
Fear is the heart of love.
So it’s not great? Or the audience hasn’t shown up yet?
Sometimes I wonder if there’s room in the world for everyone. Great minds do not think alike, that’s what makes them great.
