I have been reading some gorgeous books recently. Books with phrases that flow perfectly and descriptions that transport you into another world. It is in this euphoric state where I am bitter and disappointed, for when I come back to the computer, I shudder at the mundanity of my drafts.

It is a vicious cycle: believing you are worthy -> realising you are not -> believing you are an idiot -> small improvements -> believing you are worthy. Like a phoenix being reborn, each Dunning-Kruger evolution forces you shed the previous standard of yourself. They say the rebirthing process contains the most excruciating pain known to the world.

It is the idiot phases that are the most existentially dreadful, for it is here where your whole life is exposed as a fraud. Tonight, I stand naked before literary giants, and hang my head in shame.

Little do we know that it is these moments where we are closest to perfection.