I’d have corroded from the inside if it weren’t for art. Nothing else is enough.
(№91. 2021.XII.13)
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What are we other than barely distinct heaps of ideas and impressions?
(№90. 2021.XI.29)
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Every so often, I have to remind myself that I exist.
(№89. 2021.VI.12)
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Even more overwhelming is when you mean so much to someone, but not in a way true to who you are.
(№88. 2021.II.1)
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Though even barer than two years ago, this remaining shard of hope burns still bright
After so much human suffering, there remains the barest shard of hope, still burning bright.
(№55. 2018.XII.31)
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It’s overwhelming to realize that you mean so much to anyone.
(№87. 2020.XII.25.)
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I’m going to a quiet place so I
can listen to the sounds inside my mind.
(№86. 2020.XI.28)
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There is a melancholic happiness in bettering oneself having better recognized that it might all end in barely a moment.
(№85. 2020.IX.15)
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Nostalgia for the past makes us forget how through our prejudice we have hurt other people. We must not continue down that path.
(№84. 2020.VI.5)
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It’s okay to retreat into a safe, quiet place and listen to yourself think every once in a while.
(№83. 2020.V.26)
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I see sadness in happy things because I can’t help but imagine that they will come unceremoniously to a forgotten end.
(№82. 2020.V.20)
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If everyone is becoming nostalgic, does anything remain of the present?
(№81. 2020.V.15)
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Now, perhaps more than ever, do I hold dear the value of human life and the wide possibilities of human experience.
(№80. 2020.IV.7)
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I mourn for those lost years when I was compelled to live other than as I am.
(№79. 2020.III.6)
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When I think about the dreadful uncertainty, the sadness of remaining as unrealized as I am now looks more appealing.
(№78. 2020.II.24)
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Every so often, I wonder to myself why I even have a name. It just feels inconsequential for my beinghood.
(№77. 2020.II.9)
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You end up finding out who you really are when your once familiar world cracks and falls into pieces.
(№76. 2019.XII.31)
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