The edge of it

But it’s, it’s uh like…it’s like when you drive through the forest at night and you can see the edge of it, you have that little bit of clearness ahead. You don’t really mind how long you drive for or notice how you are tired or anything because you can see the edge of it. But I can’t see the edge anymore, there’s no light to aim for. I am in the middle of the forest with my headlights off. Now what’s the point in starting again? Same as Vanya. It’s been a long time since I’ve expected anything for myslef of for anything to change. I can’t change really, because I don’t like people anymore, and I foresee that being a problem. If I believed in people again maybe it be worth starting over somewhere. But it’s been a long time since I’ve felt anything for anyone.

-Uncle Vanya, Anya Reiss//A. Chekhov

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About Sig

Her days flew like the wind; for when she wasn't studying lessons, she was fond of building castles in the air, and dreaming of the time when something she had done would make her famous, so that everybody would hear of her, and want to know her. I don't think she had made up her mind what this wonderful thing was to be.
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