So in recent weeks there has been a change. But where? It 's a change in the abstract that rests on nothing. It is I who have changed? If not me then it is this room, this city, this nature need to choose.
But I'm afraid of what is to be born, that is to get hold of me ... and drag, where?
Sartre, Nausea
would think that a change outside of ourselves can feel after you have spent too much time paying no attention to external things, to those who have any importance.
In solitude there is no story, only observation of details, especially those most trivial and unique: everything you thought.
But then change is my , if I can catch the news in an overview, and the world around me constantly changing, but it is not that I know it, forever.
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