Impenetrability is just a mask hiding a soul starved for warmth.
Impenetrability is just a mask hiding a soul starved for warmth.
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More on “vulnerability”
A Second Under the Open Sky
Ever happened to you? Someone throws a harsh line your way and you instantly counterattack with logic and facts, desperate to prove you’re right. Even if you win the argument, a bitter aftertaste remains. Why? Because you answered the words, not the person...
Ctrl+Alt+Del
You don't exist. What you call "I" is a pirated assembly of other people's ideas about success, installed on your factory hardware back in childhood. Clumsy, with broken drivers, but with a full suite of office programs: "Be convenient," "Don't stand out," "What will people say?"
The Decorator
At first, we are architects. We are born a wild, unmapped landscape. Somewhere lies a swamp of secret wants, somewhere cliffs of irrational fear, somewhere clearings of pure, causeless joy. Very early on, though, an inner perfectionist wakes up with a master plan for the build-out.
Rust
Arthur was not a person. He was a function housed in a flawless exoskeleton. His title — “Senior Partner” — was a cuirass. His measured, emotionless speech — a sealed visor. His daily commute from sterile suburb to glass tower — greaves that kept him marching in line. Deep inside that armor sat not Arthur, but a small, frightened boy.