the way the inside of my hands still tingle thinking about it, even though it has nothing to do with my hands...it’s like the idea itself is a low frequency hum that vibrates through the bones. the way some ideas stick, become bone, become the way you understand everything else and you look back and wonder how you ever saw anything differently, ever lived on the surface of your own thoughts and now there's only deeper to go. it’s terrifying how easily a single phrase can rearrange the furniture of your whole mind, isn’t it? and it’s also the only thing worth chasing.