Life is absurd in that it shows you a glimpse of your ideals, lets you experience bliss, snatches it away, and then like a treacherous demon taunts you with the unattainable for the rest of your life. You became numb, or so you thought, until you realize: you must still hope for this unattainable ideal. Because otherwise, you are absolutely fucked and only death is your ambition. I am tired of finding new ways to live. I am tired of trying to find out what works. I am tired of things working; and then *not*. _I am tired of restructuring my life, again and again._ But I've realized change will come again no matter if I face it laughing or if I face it crying. If I face it intensely or if I face it numb. What *is* will pass and what *isn’t* will come. I will live through it because that’s all I can do as a storyteller. Creating art is a survival mechanism. ![[IMG_8420.jpeg]]