"All kinds of things are happening to me. Some I chose, some..." — Haruki Murakami
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All kinds of things are happening to me. Some I chose, some I didn't. I don't know how to tell one from the other anymore. What I mean is, it feels like everything's been decided in advance—that I'm following a path somebody else has already mapped out for me. It doesn't matter how much I think things over, how much effort I put into it. In fact, the harder I try, the more I lose my sense of who I am. It's like my identity's an orbit that I've strayed far away from, and that really hurts. But more than that, it scares me.
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You wait for the right moment, and it will come to you. You need confidence that you will…
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No matter how far you travel, you can never get away from yourself.
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Time weighs down on you like an old, ambiguous dream. You keep on moving, trying to slip…
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If you remember me, then I don't care if everyone else forgets.