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Weren__ all __oung_ people the same? Disillusioned, world-weary, bored out of their minds? The constant need for adventure, that constant need to ridicule suburban life and jobs that keep you desk bound and microwavable food and comfort.Everything was fake and every day had to be a day closer to the genuine. They were always single, these __oung_ people, childless, unattached, maybe rich. Selfish. He remembered being 'young_ and being horribly, horribly selfish. How infinite he felt. Now he found comfort in the predictability of the train. But he didn__ miss his old self. Even then he knew he was lost.
Eliza Victoria A Bottle of Storm Clouds: Stories
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Weren__ all __oung_ people the same? Disillusioned, world-weary, bored out of their minds? The constant need for adventure, that constant need to ridicule suburban life and jobs that keep you desk bound and microwavable food and comfort.Everything was fake and every day had to be a day closer to the genuine. They were always single, these __oung_ people, childless, unattached, maybe rich. Selfish. He remembered being 'young_ and being horribly, horribly selfish. How infinite he felt. Now he found comfort in the predictability of the train. But he didn__ miss his old self. Even then he knew he was lost.
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Eliza Victoria

A Bottle of Storm Clouds: Stories

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Now you see. We are all fugitives. We have always been fugitives from the void. Whatever comfort, whatever power we gain from outside of ourselves diminishes us -- because comfort and power, unless they are won from the void inside of us, are illusions that make us forget the emptyness that carries us. When we forget that, we believe we deserve comfort and power and so are capable of any evil. We deserve nothing but what we make of ourselves. We deserve nothing else. And when we understand that, then nothing is enough.