Only you pick that crab. Nobody else take it. I already know this. Everyone else want best quality. You thinking different.

I have loved works of fiction precisely for their illusions, for the author's sleight-of-hand in showing me the magic, what appeared in the right hand but not in the left.

When I returned home that day, I saw my life as if I already knew the happy ending of a story. I looked around the house and thought, soon I will no longer have to see these walls and all the unhappiness they keep inside.

I learned to make things not matter, to put a seal on my hopes and place them on a high shelf, out of reach. And by telling myself that there was nothing inside those hopes anyway, I avoided the wounds of deep disappointment. The pain was no worse than the quick sting of a booster shot. And yet thinking about this makes me ache again. How is it that as a child I knew I should have been loved more? Is everyone born with a bottomless emotional resevoir?

Can you imagine how it is, to want to be neither inside nor outside, to want to be nowhere and disappear?

When you already believe something, how can you suddenly stop? When you are a loyal friend, how can you no longer be one?

We are living in a world where everything is false. The society is like bright paint applied on top of rotten wood.