If reality is as equally valuable as fiction, then you should just chalk up the parts of the past you don’t need to your imagination

I don’t believe in god. There’s no proof he exists. In a world where there isn’t even proof of the future, the past exists. Even if it’s tainted with misunderstandings and delusions, if the people themselves believe in it, the past is the truth to them. And, if you base your actions or your life around it, in a way, it’s a type of god itself.

Behind every coincidence, every stroke of luck, and every miracle, there is inevitably a cold and calculating mind.

I am who I am and there’s nothing wrong with that. The days continue like they always have. They bring neither excessive desire nor despair. Nothing’s changed. Yet I’m overwhelmed with a sense of fulfillment. I’m right here. You’re over there. If I’m your savior, then you’re mine

You can’t run away. The past will be only too happy to chase you —- in absolute, complete, and total earnest. Do you know why? Because they’re lonely. The past and memories are very lonely things. I don’t believe in God. Because he doesn’t have a fixed form. The past certainly does exist, even in a world where the future doesn’t have a fixed form. Even if it’s being colored by misunderstandings and delusions, a person’s past can’t be anything but the truth as long as he believes in it. If that’s what you base your actions or your way of life on, isn’t that like being god?

In my hometown, the sky seemed endless . . . but there was nothing to see.

Reality is such a pain. Those of us who were fed up with that kind of reality decided to remake it. We’d set up a partition, separate what’s important to us from what was trash, put only the things we loved on our side, and got rid of the rest.