I remember being a young girl, on the brink of atheism, enamored by Ivan. He spoke with such (madding) eloquence and he articulated all I hated about God (the world God created).
Now though, he seems so young himself. Where I saw intellect, I now see pain (as Dostoevsky intended). I looked up to him then and now I just want to gather him in my arms and tell him it is okay to exist in all these contradictions.
— Mar 02, 2025 11:18PM
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