“My dear, I don’t know what to do today, help me decide. Should I cut myself open and pour my heart on these pages? Or should I sit here and do nothing, nobody’s asking anything of me afterall. Should I jump off the cliff that has my heart beating so and develop my wings on the way down? Or should I step back from the edge, and let the others deal with this thing called courage. Should I stare back at the existential abyss that haunts me so and try desperately to grab from it a sense of self? Or should I keep walking half-asleep, only half-looking at it every now and then in times in which I can’t help doing anything but? Should I kill myself or have a cup of coffee? Falsely yours.” – Albert Camus.
I’ve gone through the times in my life that I thought I am becoming Zedka.
Some other time, Ivan Turgenev.
Today Albert Camus.
I have murderous thoughts all the time, about various ways to live and to die. And how to notice little things and walk on water, staying afloat despite the abyss is calling. I don’t know how to correctly dissect my life so far into phrases. Because I take too many things in ; sounds, sights, memories, all bundled in one and attack me tirelessly. I have hollow and empty stares that makes an average human afraid and confused. Since they never seen the deepest bottom of their souls.