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Every metaphor inherits a history of who gets to be light, and who is asked to absorb it.
Your emotional life has a soundtrack. You didn’t choose it; it was scored for you.
If you need to be perfect to be loved, you will never be loved—only admired from a distance.
Followers aren’t an audience; they’re an alibi. And everyone’s pretending the rope isn't there.
They don’t want you to succeed. They want you to curate a version of success they can consume.
When your emotional vocabulary only exists inside a fandom, you have joined a congregation.