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We are the Tired Youth; drained out from all the madness around us. The expectations we feed ourselves. Slowly, everyday

We are the Greedy Youth; running around wanting everything. Always asking for more, hungry for the entirety

We are the Unhappy Youth; devoted to our sadness, married to our grief. We’re attached to our past. Living in it

We are the Wild Youth; capable of anything and everything just for the thrill of it, waiting in line for the rollercoaster ride. To ride it over and over again

We are the Delusional Youth; we lost sense of reality. Torn between illusions and life. Day dreamers instead of dream hunters

We are the Lost Youth; living for the wrong purposes, chasing other peoples goals. Ashamed of pursuing our own happiness or even admitting what makes us happy

We are the Bleeding Youth; walking around with leaking scars from unfinished businesses and unclosed doors. Draining ourselves to death

We are the High Youth; our feet have lost touch of the ground. We are floating empty because of how shallow we’ve become. Nothing solid inside

We are the Reckless Youth; we lost all sense of grace. We’ve become too impulsive, too thoughtless; Careless. We’ve become Daredevils

We are the Emotional Youth; we feel too much, get too involved. Our brains have shut down completely and we are guided by our hearts alone. No balance no limits.

We are the Scared Youth; afraid of standing up for ourselves, for what’s right. Too scared to speak up. Terrified from the truth

We are the Modern Youth; we live by our own rules. We own this modern world. We have lost our traditions, our Minds, Bodies and Souls.

“I love my mystery. I love the abstract, delicate, profound, vague, voluptuously wordless sensation of living ecstatically. On days like that I could write you any way at all - and I don’t really care, as long as you understand.

I don’t care about beautiful or perfect English. If It comes out perfect or beautiful - very well - but you know, I don’t care enough about just that - I’m so full, so excited, so feverish - language will always drag and lag behind.

I live with the consciousness of the poet - mind you - not the consciousness the dead-formula-making psychoanalysts would like to put their clinical fingers on - oh, not that, no; I mean a consciousness with acute senses.

The consciousness of going to the edge.”

—Anaïs Nin,

A Literate Passion: Letters of Anaïs Nin & Henry Miller, 1932-1953

There’s a moon inside every human being.
Learn to be companions with it. Give more of your life to this listening.

As brightness is to time, so you are to the one who talks to the deep ear in your chest.

I should sell my tongue and buy a thousand ears when that one steps near and begins to speak.

— Rumi

“There were always in me, two women at least, One woman desperate and bewildered, who felt she was drowning;

And another who would leap into a scene, as upon a stage, conceal her true emotions because they were weaknesses, helplessness, despair. And present to the world only a smile, an eagerness, curiosity, enthusiasm, interest.”

— Anaïs Nin

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