i’m plagued by the notion that i’m running out of time. running out of time for what? i still don’t know. i know what it’s not. it’s not material success i do not see an expiry date like one would print on a pack of blueberries on me for that. it’s not to find love…

i am a caterpillar who is yet to undergo metamorphosis while simultaneously undergoing rebirth and an awakening every 3-5 business days. i have progressed, transcended my old self even, but i am not yet in my end form. it catches me on the train then walking down the stairs at london bridge. it hits me…

whenever i enter that state i like to stare at myself in the mirror. i don’t do it in self adoration. i’m watching myself morph into the truth. my face stops being human and becomes something more familiar. my eyes are the main thing that change, always the eyes. they turn into something different and…

i’m not scared of the plane hitting turbulence and falling out of the sky, i’m certain that that kind of death wouldn’t happen to me. i’m scared of a freak incident where cabin pressure dips without any souls or instruments noticing. everyone just sitting there breathing while something invisible has already started. death scares me…