There is so much I want to do but I am so afraid of failing, I want to write I want to draw I want to make so much but to make something and put it out there is to open your heart and let people throw spears at it.

Life feels like a set of about 5 doors that I've opened and looked inside and all I find is a wall or a small broom closet, I trick myself in thinkign that this time there will be something else that will show up when I'm not looking.

I'm desperate for something to show up, the alure of a peeling on the fabric of our world. Sometimes I look at the sky and I feel like they are fake, not because they seem fake but because I want them to be, I want a wall for me to tear so I can know that there is something different behind it, that in reality, things are different, but they're not. When I go outside I fear death, I tell myself I won't die, it doesn't make sense to die now, why would I die now, but I know deep down that I could die any moment, it doesn't have to be after a long time, or big achievements. All the time, a cashier of a small shop dies of an accident somewhere, any day it could be me, ammount to nothing, this burning bright sensation of life blown out like it's merely a dust particle touching the sea.