I’m sort of OK as long as I sit perfectly still on the couch here. Like how you don’t realize how drunk you are until you step off the bar stool, the real trouble starts when I try to get up and do anything.
Because he sacrifices his health in order to make money. Then he sacrifices money to recuperate his health. And then he is so anxious about the future that he does not enjoy the present;
the result being that he does not live in the present or the future; he lives as if he is never going to die, and then dies having never really lived.
I go through phases. Somedays I feel like the person I’m supposed to be, and then somedays, I turn into no one at all. There is both me and my silhouette. I hope that on the days you find me and all I am are darkened lines, you still are willing to be near me.