Sometimes when I'm brushing my teeth, I'll look at the mirror and I swear my reflection seems kind of disappointed. I realized a couple of years ago that not only am I not super-skilled at anything, I'm not even particularly good at being myself.

I had forgotten: this is what it feels like to live in time. The lurching forward, the sensation of falling of a cliff into darkness, and then landing abruptly, surprised, confused, and then starting the whole process again in the next moment, doing that over and over again, falling into each instant of time and then climbing back up only to repeat the process.

You want to tell a story? Grow a heart. Grow two. Now, with the second heart, smash the first one into bits.

You can just sit in here, impervious and invisible. So invisible you might even forget yourself.

Maybe we spend most of our decades being someone else, avoiding ourselves, maybe a man is only himself, his true self, for a few days in his entire life.

All anyone is to anyone is a series of days.

Most people I know live their lives moving in a constant forward direction, the whole time looking backward.