I swear, I'll never talk to anyone about Jupiter again.
Εντάξει, απλά πρέπει να πάρω ένα τιγάνι και να αρχίσω να χτυπάω το κεφάλι μου για να σταματίσω να ξερνάω ψυχολογικά.

Ey, little Hemingway, I wish you were less Schopenhauer.

One week has past since I've been sitting on that bench, writing furious into my journal. There was only the sound of the ink pen scrunching the paper. Now, the voice inside my head grows louder each day, my appetite is shrinking to 5%, and my problem of derealization is becoming permanent. Wonderful.

Listening to: Madrugada - What's on your mind

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