someone had once described life to me as a long black corridor, one that we continually walk through.
he said to me that whenever we find an open window, we must enjoy those tiny windows of happiness that tend to close in front of us as soon as we look out smiling.
and he’s right –
except sometimes, it feels as though looking out a window hurts more than just walking down the black corridor alone. because at least if i keep going, at least if i continue to walk, i’ll never know what i’d be missing. at least if i don’t look, at least if i don’t stop, i wouldn’t have to see the things that are merely images within a frame, things that i’ll never be able to hold on to.