We so badly want it to mean something that we neatly skate around the reality of it – the fact that it’s as flat as a discarded glass of champagne.
So we pile up our fears and doubts like squirrels on a hoarding rampage – they are to be dealt with later, once the blinders have finally fallen off and there is no choice but to admit, oh so very grudgingly, that this is nothing, we are nothing.
In the meantime we pretend and smile, for as long as we can. Delusions born and kept alive out of the fear of missing out are the strongest and slowest to die. We all want special, we all think we’re owed it – we are fools.
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