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About how my job sometimes doesn't feel like a real job, though it is...about how much I want the day to be over when I'm at my job so I can go home and do what I want to do...about my great new house that is a mess because I just moved in...about how I wish I had lots of people to invite over and entertain because it's a great house and I'd love that...about how I need to get out more
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Whether we write or speak or do but look
We are ever unapparent. What we are
Cannot be transfused into word or book.
Our soul from us is infinitely far.
However much we give our thoughts the will
To be our soul and gesture it abroad,
Our hearts are incommunicable still.
In what we show ourselves we are ignored.
The abyss from soul to soul cannot be bridged
By any skill of thought or trick of seeming.
Unto our very selves we are abridged
When we would utter to our thought our being.
We are our dreams of ourselves, souls by gleams,
And each to each other dreams of others' dreams.
Fernando Pessoa, 1918
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