the true danger lies in the chance that
a man might never grow tired of living
in the bogs of his own unreality.
because there, in his delusion, he remains
unexposed to the full breadth of
intricacy and nuance, truth and pain,
love and fear, the dichotomies of the
human experience. he only ever relieves his
aches in the shallow pools of vanity and pity,
the poorest salves. because in his bog, there
exists no purpose other than that of avoiding
pain, no matter the cost incurred on his soul.
t.w.