Looking back

Life is too hard. How can it be more hard here, in Sweden, than in India? Or maybe I just don’t remember feeling this way over there, I never do, after all. Remember the bad days I mean.

I want to burn all my bridges and just get away, from everything. Start over, be decadent. I want to live the life of over-class slob that cruises around in their cars and parties, just happening to know the right people because, well, you belong in their circles, and have everyone believe that you’re fucking awesome because, well, you know the right people. The moshpoint of acquaintances, where no one trusts anyone, everybody is friends with everyone. Everyone has a history, and all have some issues.

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