There is an irony in finding solace and understanding in your own work, written in times gone by.
We read to find an understanding in texts and words of those infinity wiser, yet sometimes the most profound and surprising is our own; words written in pain, in dire understanding. Wisdom we found in ourselves once, lost, and found again.

(found in my notebook, dated 20 July 2013.)

The night is only dark if you let it. It should never be as black as the rain on a cold winters eve. The night is our own, and shall never be lost in the abyss. We own the night, and we bring it warmth and light.

(found in my notebook, dated 15 July 2012.)

Look out the window. Tell me what you see. You see the same things that you see everyday. Well, imagine you’ve never seen it. Imagine you spent your whole life in other parts of the world, being told everyday that you’re defending freedom. Then you finally decide you’ve had enough. Time to see what you’ve given up your whole life for, everything. Get some of that “freedom” for yourself. Look at the people. You tell me which ones are free. Free from debt. Anxiety. Stress. Fear. Failure. Indignity. Betrayal. How many wish that they were born knowing what they know now? Ask yourself how many would do things the same way over again, and how many would live their lives like me.Jack Reacher