Every once in a while you feel like the world is closing down on you. Yesterday was one such day. When I went to sleep, there were a few lines from a book I read a long time ago running through my head. My friend had some luck since she got to down some whiskey and listen to me, I just had despair.
“But even so, every now and then I would feel a violent stab of loneliness. The very water I drink, the very air I breathe, would feel like long, sharp needles. The pages of a book in my hands would take on the threatening metallic gleam of razor blades. I could hear the roots of loneliness creeping through me when the world was hushed at four o’clock in the morning.”
— Haruki Murakami (Kafka on the Shore)