He sighed, finally understanding why some artists stopped painting, why explorers stopped exploring and why Guns N’ Roses should’ve only released one album. He knew he existed, not just because he’d spent years of his life proving it, but because if he didn’t, he wouldn’t feel the crushing weight of everyone’s expectations pressing down on his slender shoulders.
He twirled the end of his goatee, staring blankly at the wall, until his thoughts were interrupted by a text message. It was a picture of Galileo, holding up the “Father of Modern Science” mug Descartes had sent. “Thanks bro. — GG,” he’d typed.
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