There is a particular strain of music which plays in my mind, the days I write here. This is not the entirety of who I am, in these small typed words and melancholic phrases, influenced as they are by contemplation and maudlin, beautiful compositions. This is not even the core of my being--can an amorphous stream have a core? But this is a moment of me, and in this moment, this is the entirety of myself and who I am.
This moment, the entirety of me is old, and tired, and already sitting outside that stream of life and relationships. When one is alone so much, it is easy to forget one's age, and even one's joy's and personality. Impersonalisation and detachment have ever been my peculiar talents.
And I have just become bored. Very suddenly. I think I shall go somewhere are read. Enough of this vanity!
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