I can see that the sadness has returned. And it's not a beautiful sadness- beautiful sadness is a myth. Sadness turns our features to clay, not porcelain.

Things rarely get fixed the way they need to be.

But whether or not you are here, you are here—because these words are for you, and they wouldn't exist if you weren't here in some way.

My lines all curve. I tend to connect the wrong dots.

My face seems too square and my eyes too big, like I'm perpetually surprised, but there's nothing wrong with me that I can fix.

That no matter what i did, I would always be missing something else. And the only way to live, the only way to be happy, was to make sure the things I didn't miss meant more to me than the things I missed.

Part of growing up is making sure your sense of reality isn't entirely grounded in your own mind.