Excerpts Of Stories

At some point, being angry is just another bad habit, like smoking, and you keep poisoning yourself without thinking about it.

We are empty people. Lost, too caught up in our own sadness to notice that anyone is sad at all. The world turns and nothing changes. People are afraid of what they don’t know. And no one knows pure happiness. No one knows freedom. They’d vote it away in a heartbeat if they could, and just send their children, generation after generation, down the same old lonely road.

It still happens. Even when you’re ‘all better’. You just crash, and lie there hopelessly for a couple of hours, wondering why you even try. Then you get up. Shake off the sadness. And no one knows you were ever sad at all.

Whatever you think, be sure it is what you think; whatever you want, be sure that is what you want; whatever you feel, be sure that is what you feel.

Then again, maybe it is me.

you fucked me up and I blamed myself.