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My life has no meaning; I feel like my existence is just a waste of oxygen. I used to think that somewhere in this world there was a purpose for me, a reason to justify every effort. But with the passage of time, all I've learned is that I'm useless, someone who hasn't achieved anything worth remembering.

Every day that passes, I face the same emptiness, the same frustration of not having left a mark, of not having an achievement that makes me feel alive. I look back and find nothing but shadows, failed attempts, and dreams that never came true. And then that cruel certainty comes over me: I am nothing, and maybe I always was.

I breathe, but I feel like there's no reason. I walk, but I'm not moving anywhere. It's as if my existence were a mistake, a voiceless echo, a presence that leaves no trace. And that thought slowly eats away at me, reminding me every moment how useless everything I am has been.

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Hyber Realstic Ocean Wave Sculpture by Japanese Art Collective 'Mé' (2019)

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2025/04/10

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Michelle Buswell by Matthias Vriens, Numéro 66, September 2005

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Sirpa Lane & Vibeke Knudsen

French Vogue. Paris, September 1975

Photographer: Helmut Newton

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Clive Arrowsmith - Pirelli Calendar (1991)

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