The other day, I remember walking along the halls of Aldrich and coming across this piece of art I found quirky and yet haunting. I shan't quote it just yet because I want to get it exactly as the artist said of the piece. Tomorrow, I will go in search of it. And I will quote all of it. It reminded me of life's little things. A reminder to not be buried in the hurry burry of everything, and to marvel at the strange fates at work that brought me to Harvard, to Aldrich, to that hallway, standing at that very art piece on the cusp of the beautiful moment that will be so full of comprehension and beautiful simplicity.
Have you observed how, happiness makes us insensitive? Like when you were happy, you couldn't comprehend or were patient enough to hear out or really feel for someone who's in not so great state?
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