some are lucky enough to build. there is greatness. the rest of us, the bungled and the botched, merely survive. some of us talk, we seem to say something at times. there is so much chatter. who can say? am i overlooked, or just a fool? why does it matter to me so much? no, i hang in that stretch between foolishness and greatness. how bland. how disheartening. how horrifyingly ordinary.
is it better to believe you are great yet be a fool, or to feel grossly inept yet be great? how is it possible to know which you are in this dense sea of self-delusion into which we all at the very least dip a toe?
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