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Sometimes I hate people. This is probably very bad for my mental health.
He leans back. “Time passes. I do stuff. Some of it matters. Some of it doesn’t.” “I thought you were an optimist.” He grins. “Just because something doesn’t matter doesn’t mean it’s not worth doing.”
And there’s sort of a moment where everyone’s sitting and thinking, you know? Like that feeling when you finish watching a film. You turn off the TV, the screen is black, but the pictures are replaying in your head and you think: What if that’s my life? What if that’s going to happen to me? Why don’t I get that happy ending? Why am I complaining about my problems?
