Sunday, February 21

verwirrt.

My congested airway is perhaps making me delusional.

Sometime, somewhere, everyone realizes that they don't really matter in the grand scheme of things.

We're all surrounded by successful people; we all wish we could be like those people, who seem to matter. But you know, that variable white dwarf BPM 37093 in Centaurus doesn't really care about Albert Einstein.

Ignore me and my disgusting sniffling noises, please. But now that I'm in college, it is blatantly true, and I am frighteningly complacent.

But art. Perhaps this is something I can still be good at.

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