Memories

I found my diary from my adventure to Japan today (the personal version of this), and I was looking through it a little bit. I thought I was getting more mature (it’s been two years, after all), but it seems like I still make the same stupid mistakes. I don’t make them exactly the same way, but I’m starting to feel like all my relationship arcs are echoes of echoes of echoes.

That’s such a disconcerting thought. My life is just an index of obsession after obsession. Nothing is the first time. Nothing is new. I mean, I hate new. Maybe that’s why I keep going back to the same kinds of people and the same kinds of friendships. I find something I like and I just stick with it.

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