someday this will wash up on the shores of cyberspace like a message in a bottle and wonder who i was. whoever they imagine me to be is who i am, for how else can i justify my existance if not through the gaze of another? the eyes are not a window to the soul, but a mirror through which we can see ourselves for what we truly are, or at least what others percieve our true selves to be. Because at the End Of The Day, All I Am Is What You Say I Am.
i was getting my haircut today and the barber starts talking to his friend in Albanian. he then says to me "it must be weird hearing it, sounds like its from another planet". i respond with "i dont mind, a lot of my friends speak other languages. i always ask them to roast me in their native tongue and i will never know what they say". he then says "whenever someone hears a new language the first thing they want to learn is how to curse and swear. no one ever wants to learn the pretty words". it stuck with me we draw so few breaths on this planet, why waste it on fighting
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