I think about dying but I don’t want to die, not even close. In fact my problem is the complete opposite. I want to live, I want to escape. I feel trapped and bored and claustrophobic, there’s so much to see and so much to do but I somehow still find myself doing nothing at all. I’m wasting every second, even now I’m writing this when I should be out there. I should be living. I’m still here in this metaphorical bubble of existence and I can’t quite figure out what the hell I’m doing or how to get out.
Let me tell you a few things about regret…There is no end to it. You cannot find the beginning of the chain that brought us from there to here. Should you regret the whole chain, and the air in between, or each link separately as if you could uncouple them? Do you regret the beginning which ended so badly, or just the ending itself?
There are a few things in life so beautiful they hurt: swimming in the ocean while it rains, reading alone in empty libraries, the sea of stars that appear when you’re miles away from the neon lights of the city, bars after 2am, walking in the wilderness, all the phases of the moon, the things we do not know about the universe, and you.