The sea is endless when you are in a rowboat.
Life has now taught me that love for things, like all unrequited love, takes its toll in the long run.
The body is imaginary, and we bow to the tyranny of a phantom. Love is a privilege perception, the most total and lucid not only of the unreality of the world but of our own unreality: not only do we traverse a realm of shadows; but ourselves are shadows.
People love nobody as much as they do their hatred.
Perhaps we always want the person we love, to have the existence of a ghost.
And the reason I am so nervous is that everything I do now is leading me to one of three possible futures... Which one will it be? Time alone will tell. But still I know that writing this diary can perhaps provide the answer; it may even help produce the right future.