week before the birthday is hell

this is going to be so good..

in a world that tells us to chase balance, Bukowski's words feel almost reckless — but maybe that's the point. passion isn't supposed to be safe. we scroll through endless versions of other people's dreams, trying to find our own, afraid to commit to something that might consume us. but maybe the only way to really live is to let something matter enough that it costs you a piece of yourself