What is it about this cold, gray month that feels like a time for second chances?

The solidifying of new friendships and healing of old ones.

The late nights of existential angst, deep conversations, and rushed studying for tests.

The panic of getting that 50,000-word quota alongside thousands of other hopeful writers.

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Thought Snapshot

“That moment when you re-read an extremely emotional book, but this time around you actually have real-life experience with the subject and you can’t take your mind off it and then you realize a bunch of things about your life and the things you did wrong and people you miss and times you wish you could go back to (both because they were beautiful and to be able to do things differently) and you get this bittersweet ball of emotion in your chest and can’t decide if you’re sad about the things you miss or happy that they happened (and hopeful that someday someone will be willing to listen to the story that just needs to be told) and then you text that person who maybe you shouldn’t and who probably doesn’t want to hear from you but you need to know that they’re doing better so you don’t care because you love them and miss them and feel like you hardly know them all at once. You know those moments? They’re beautiful moments. Life is so horribly painfully awkwardly wonderfully beautiful, Felix.”

An Open Letter to Myself

Dear Self,

Did you just see what happened? Do you realize what you just did?

Perhaps I should start from an earlier point. It has come to my attention that, though living with depression is hard, living without depression is just as hard once you’ve become accustomed to it.

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