Is it weird?

Is it weird? That absolutely nothing in the world scares me more than the unknown, but that nothing in the world exhilarates me like it either. Is it weird? How I can paint a picture reflecting the spontinuity and messiness of my brain, right under a perfectly color coded bookshelf. Is it weird? How I can dream of ocean views and foreign lands one day, and of corporate jobs and a tidy apartment the next. Is it weird? How these clashing ideas both drive me insane and mold me together at the same time, constantly opposing one another while ripping my brain apart and expanding it simultaneously. Is it weird? Am I weird? Or maybe I’m just a portrait of decadant madness simply waiting to unfold into another chapter.

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