Every step you take, a million doors open in front of you like poppies; your next step closes them, and another million bloom. You get on a train, you pick up a lamp, you speak, you don’t. What decides why one thing gets picked to be the way it will be? Accident? Fate? Some weakness in ourselves? Forget your harps, your tin-foil angels—the only heaven worth having would be the heaven of answers.
Mark SloukaKafka didn't save me. He just told me I was drowning.
Mark SloukaLife isn't simple. Literature shouldn't be either.
Mark SloukaTags: life literature
Maybe I lacked coping skills. Maybe I was weak. I cared for people for no better reason than they seemed to care for me, acknowledge me. It didn’t seem so dangerous at the time.
Mark SloukaTags: people weakness coping brewster mark-slouka
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