I am lost, therefore, I am free.

Here I am, a bundle of past recollections and future dreams, knotted up in a reasonably attractive bundle of flesh. I remember what this flesh had gone through; I dream of what it may go through. I record here the actions of optical nerves, of taste buds, of sensory perception. And, I think: I am but one more drop in the great sea of matter, defined, with the ability to realize my existence.


big thanks goes out to you guys.

My birthday is in less than a month. I usually hate my birthday. My parents ruin it every single year. For seventeen years so far, that’s what they’ve done.

So my moms been asking what I want to do for it, and I told her since I’m turning 18 and I can drive, I wanted to go up to San Fran with a friend or something, without them. Straight out no.

Then I wonder, why? Why should I celebrate my birthday? Why should I celebrate my life? Eighteen years of misery? That’s not something to celebrate. And it’s all thanks to you mom and dad. You’ve constantly made my life hell.

So don’t ask me what I want to do to celebrate my life. Because this is your second life. The one that you control. Do what you want. Not that you need my permission. You were going to anyway.

Eighteen ruined birthdays in a row. Must be a new record. Thank you.

  1. thoughtsandfingertips posted this
Posted 2 months ago with 1 note
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