“The same feeling of not belonging, of futility, wherever I go: I pretend interest in what matters nothing to me, I bestir myself mechanically or out of charity, without ever being caught up, without ever being somewhere. What attracts me is elsewhere, and I don’t know where that elsewhere is.”
— Emil Cioran, The Trouble With Being Born (via what-ever-comes-to-mind)
Elsewhere, illusive elsewhere. It is a mirage I chase, like the one on a hot summer noon on a highway in Central India.