“There is another world, but it is in this one.” — William Butler Yeats
“It’s 3am,” I say.
What I really mean is I want to go.
Someone once said I had a taste for running away, a superficial serenity of mind and a distributed intelligence that keeps me away from the depths of life. The truth is that, well, they must have gotten one or two things right.
But tonight I want to make my way into his heart and forget that there might be something greater around the corner, and I should just keep floating. Tonight I want nothing othen than to just plunge into it, because the surface is getting cold and crowded and my head is spinning a little. Yet there is the little voice that tells me how it’s too soon to be fragile, that everybody loves strength, and that showing anything less is…
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