My one fear is that tomorrow I may die without having come to know myself. In the course of my life I have discovered that a fearful abyss lies between me and other people and have realised that my best course is to remain silent and keep my thoughts to myself for as long as I can. If I have now made up my mind to write it is only in order to reveal myself to my shadow, that shadow which at this moment is stretched across the wall in the attitude of one devouring with insatiable appetite each word I write. It is for his sake that I wish to make the attempt. Who knows? We may perhaps come to know each other better. Ever since I broke the last ties which held me to the rest of mankind my one desire has been to attain a better knowledge of myself.

— Sadegh Hedayat, from The Blind Owl

You hide them, hide them well, don’t you? Every interaction, every experience, every encounter where you felt left outside. Confused. Misunderstood. Ignored. So small and brief in stature. Soft and hard. But they are there, aren’t they? Refusing to leave. Made you. Your memory. And you are never going to disclose them to anyone, are you? Not in their truest form; only deviations, of distant observations, cooled by years of solace and solitude. Still, they are there. And not even your closest ones will ever know. Know of their details. Only that there might be more than what meets the eye. (Isn’t there always?). How strange that every single person walking on this earth carries around so many little, untold moments. Stories. Never to be told. Taken with them to the grave.