People don’t want their lives fixed. Nobody wants their problems solved. Their dramas. Their distractions. Their stories resolved. Their messes cleaned up. Because what would they have left? Just the big scary unknown.
Even when I looked at things, I was miles from dreaming that they existed: they looked like scenery to me. I picked them up in my hands, they served me as tools, I foresaw their resistance. But that all happened on the surface. If anyone had asked me what existence was, I would have answered, in good faith, that it was nothing, simply an empty form which was added to external things without changing anything in their nature.
Mi-e frica sa recunosc ca tot ceea ce ne inconjoara nu e nimic mai mult decat pare. Imi e greata de tot ce este tangibil si facil. As vrea sa intalnesc un om pe care sa nu il pot domina, sa imi fie frica de ceva, sa simt ceva mai mult decat simple preocupari pentru viitor. Iti pierzi ani intregi din viata crezand ca totul are un subinteles numai pentru a descoperi ca in fapt, si de fapt, lucrurile sunt mult prea simple. Viata este mult prea simpla. Idealurile, ideile, visele, visurile, interpretarile si nuantele nu sunt relevante. Suntem carne, frustrari si atat.