It seems to me that the years between eighteen and twenty-eight are the hardest, psychologically. It’s then you realize this is make or break, you no longer have the excuse of youth, and it is time to become an adult―but you are not ready.
I am terrified by this dark thing
that sleeps in me;
all day I feel its soft, feathery turnings, its malignity.
Sylvia Plath (via rauchwolken)