Pony: Different
7.6.2005
Zip back in a time machine and seek me out as a teenager, where on any typical evening you could find me holed up in my room, burning incense and candles, reading poetry while listening to sad music, trying to carve out an understanding of the world by wallowing in other people's sentiments.
One day, my sister wrote me a letter that said a lot of caring things, among them the fact that she felt sorry she had not tried hard enough to help me see that life was good and I could be happy.
The next time we spoke I asked her what she meant:
"Well you were always in your room, listening to depressing music, burning incense."
"But that depressing music and stuff...that is what made me happy."
