Day by day, like a soldier crab, I carry the shell made of my beliefs, my worldview — some kind of filters, boundaries, as if this shell could protect me from something. Sometimes it seems to be not mine, but someone else’s, off-size, of an unfitting color, inflicted by circumstances or other people.
Looks like I’ve grown out of it, it feels tight, but instead of getting out, I just look for a bigger shell. To see less, hear less, feel less. I find salvation from reality in my narrow boundaries, can’t realize that I’ve trapped myself in that one-man cell that is always with me.