|Current mood:|| cynical|
|Current music:||john mayer|
25 and i am still me
Ah yes, we may have made the mistake of pissing away oportunities and relationships and only realising their potential when it's all to late to re-create what it should/could have been. And we move on by believing that "Fuck it! We are made for better things anyway!" For surely there are things ahead that will give us solid evidence we have some sort of substance. Things that will give us a depth and creative complexity, justifying our being alive, and finally settle that restlessness in the (black) hole at the back of our sole. I mean, how can this not be?
But yet I have turned many a corner and...nothing. I still feel that bubbling of restless anticipation at the back of my chest, but where it was once light and optimistic, it now has more bile in it. Optimism is slowly lying low and dying on me. I am 25 and running head long into my quater life crisis with a force and gusto that 5 or 7 years ago was energy i would have imagined being used on "living my life to it's fullest".
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