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Gustav Klimt, On Lake Attersee, 1900

words don’t fail me, but they are hard to grasp – like in reading or saying them, they vanish from existence while becoming something real.

and yet, i remember words said from years ago. perhaps because those i believed in, back then, and they hunt me to this day. everything i believe in ends up hunting me – in a way. mostly just feeling ridiculous about every feeling i am having; crying a lot, as always.

i’m at a life stage where nothing is consistent – and i am trying to get used to it, to see something good in it. but sometimes i just feel like walking with ghostly hooves. i can’t find myself in anything, except when reading. it’s when words don’t fail me.

comfortable silence is so overrated
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