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Rows of haphazardly placed tents filled with fresh fruits and vegetables – that part made sense. It was the junk crammed between the produce stands that made him scratch his head. An ancient bicycle, its chain long since rusted into a solid object. Antiques and relics from a previous century, their surfaces worn down by unfriendly decades. Poorly printed t-shirts. A dog constructed entirely of scrap metal, half-heartedly coated in chipped paint – perhaps to showcase that the artificial animal had weathered some sort of apocalypse. How many artisanal, locally sourced candles did a person
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Yet fear is the death of passion. I cannot let it prevent me from moving forward.
As I have always said, fear is the death of passion. The true test of a man is his willingness to stare into the void within his own heart.”
blame your passions for your own bad decisions, pointing at your anger, pain, fear, hope, and longing and bemoaning your lack of choice. But that’s just an excuse. The
“Because it’s easier than facing the ugly truth. “That each and every one of you are responsible for your own decisions. “And for your own mistakes.” Finn
