today I must write, cause my blood is boiling. I am again in that state of mind like when I used to hear melancholic songs at my rented house balcony and drink random supermarket tea in an ikea coffee cup. I am again in that state of mind where I found those songs so deeply calming, yet so deeply disturbing, because a void inside was born, out of listening to those melodies: I knew there were perhaps thousands of people feeling exactly like me, and yet it felt impossible that they could feel exactly the same. maybe because it is so hard to put into words, so very hard to turn into something explainable, therefore easy to imagine in someone else.

i am in that state of mind where I question the vast majority of life decisions and try to really understand why, without lying to myself in the face with the conniving confidence of being truthful. you can't be truthful if you can't find the truth. 

today I think about all the possibilities and opportunities I left behind for reasons I can't quite understand. I was never clear about it, not even to myself, and it took a long time to recognize it. maybe feeling like this is a crucial part in, at least, coming to terms with myself. I have lived alongside fragile, makeshift theories for far too long. I can romanticize my permanent existential crisis only up to a certain point. at a certain stage it's impossible to ignore the frustration and the confusion. I can fit in so many places, yet I can't fully fit in any. some parts of me are always off. can't help but feel I'm missing out on all these parts if I just ignore their existence. I'm a collection of pieces without a definitive form. 

made for everything; and made for nothing.