Cliffhang

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Today my dad sent me a book on how to find and build ideas that are already within you. With mistrust yet curiosity I open the book thinking that it was just another self-help book, the kind that occupies shelves and shelves in a the library section no one wants to be seen in yet always feels drawn to. This results in you standing in the next section trying to read the titles from afar only to notice you are standing in  the engineering section fake-reading a book called 'Vehicular Ad Hoc Networks'. What even is that? Totally unrealistic. Even more so than admitting that you need the self-help section just as much as you need 'Girls' episodes to get you through Sunday night anxiety.
 So I open the book and on the first blank page it reads: 

" Alas for those that never sing, 
But die with all their music in them." 
- Oliver Wendell Holmes

There, threatening me black on white, my biggest fear. 
In days where anxiety is my best friend and I go to bed thinking about awkward things I've said 5 years ago to someone who probably doesn't even know my existence, nothing could feel more real than cliffhanging. 
So many questions, too many doubts, so much to do, so little time. 
One step at a time, one step at a time. 
Even if it does mean you're going to fall - who's to stay what lies beneath isn't so much better? 


The sustainable factor: I bought this about a year ago and haven't had much time to wear it since the British Island is touched by the Ice Queen for the better half of the year. But now that spring has (temporarily) sprung I got to wear it and to the "beach" no less. Just with my boots that I've had since I was fifteen and probably will forever have. New favourite combo with our without every one of my dads sweaters. Any other closet raiders here? Style knows no time, or age limit for that matter. 

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Jil Carrara