the Outsider, Albert Camus
  I’m confused, but I don’t even know whether I’m really confused. It’s hard to discern what kind of life you are living when life reaches a plateau of some sort, and you start questioning everything. You doubt your own words, doubt the words of others; push people away and detach yourself, live in no time zones. The only measure of days and time I have is the sunrise and sunset each day. Life is a constant stasis.

Saturday afternoon

You’re placed in picturesque scenery. This idyllic scene is supposed to be serene, comforting, but I’m more confused than ever. 

Glimpses

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