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On despair

My despair makes me extraordinary. I own it (which is why I call it mine). What would I be without it? I’d be just another person who has people to talk to, upon whom he can unload the matters of his day everyday. I’d be light as air. That cannot be.

Being in despair at least gives me an excuse to be less than extraordinary, for what makes for as convincing and legitimate an excuse as despair? The fear of mediocrity is an intrinsic part of my despair.

I imagine being without despair, feeling light as air, and it terrifies me because I cannot imagine it. I imagine it would be like others I believe are like that, and I see them as being mediocre for the most part (from within the realm of my despair, which by it’s very nature always strives for the uncommon, the extraordinary – in fact, that’s probably why it exists in the first place, because it always reaches so high). So on one end I’ve got my despair which bears down on me while on the other side lies the commonplace. It’s a choice I suppose, but by this point in life I’ve become familiar with one and fearful of the other.

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