I’m like a ridiculous little boat, tossed about by my own weather, and praying the storm will end.
Everyone is an assembly of voices, and inner life is their discussion. Our flaws and weaknesses are the voices we listened to more that we should have. Now, when they speak we mistake their voice for our own. These are the voices that confidently led us into every catastrophe. You can slowly change by recognizing this, and opening talks with the ignored and forgotten ones.
When longing is unbearable it becomes a prayer.
The facet of a child that has been damaged beyond the natural repair of time doesn’t grow up but freezes there. It is nonetheless bound unbreakably to the grown-up responsibilities it was always destined to bear. This is the source of the mysterious, exhausted crying you can sometimes silently feel coming from the heart of someone nearby.