“Hey I wanna write about my relationship with fiction it’s really incomprehensibly complex.”
“Actually this sounds kinda fake maybe?”
“Isn’t the Library all about stories? They’d dig this.”
“…WASN’T I SUPPOSED TO BE DOING STUFF FOR THEM ANYWAY?”
- Me, this afternoon, staring out of the car window because my phone had started overheating and I didn’t know what to do because I struggle to hold conversations with my father.
Uh, anyway. Yep! I hope this is liked, or at the very least, kindly disliked?
If this flops, will you forgive my hubris?
Am I using the word hubris right?
Who cares. Bye!
By ourselves, we’re no one. It’s when other people look at us and see someone— that’s the moment we each start to exist.