I think we are all born diseased, and we spend our entire lives searching for that one cure. It could be anything: a place, a profession, a person. Some people live to the end without ever finding theirs. Some people manage to find it, but through an unfortunate turn of events, lose that precious thing they seek. It’s not easy.
I hate the fact that you completed me so much that I stopped fighting. I hate that you made me feel sufficient, that I didn’t have to try to impress you. I hate that you told me it was okay to just be me, that I was good enough the way I was. I hate that you made me satisfied with the world and everything.
Because I can’t live like that. I can’t stop. I have to keep going, keep running down this road that has no end. Why, you ask? Because I can’t be happy with where I am or who I am. As long as there’s some place higher, some place farther off, I have to reach it. I want to reach it. And you know, maybe that’s who I really am.
Screw the cure.