The beginning of all stories

I've noticed that not writing in my blog for some time probaly means one of two things: either I'm blantantly happy or extremely busy. This case was the second, with some anxious sickly blues added. But I'm fine now.
I'm turning 24 in four days. It not a signature age and I won't get a coup-de-blues. But I guess I've learned a lot through it. I've been depressed, happy, extremely angry, bored, done things very important for the rest of my life, felt like a teenager again, forgiven people and situations, got my self esteem back, admitted a lot of things. I'm at a good point for my life.
Some days ago, I've decided to stop telling stories and start living them again. Today seems to tell me that they're still necessary. To help people keep going on.
In the end, is tragedy worse than mediocrity? Think about it... and good night.

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