I’ve never wanted to sit, to stay still, and add these little pieces of me together: the days where I ache to feel alive, to switch a light on inside of myself that’s burnt out. The days where it feels impossible to do just that. The days where I can stand on the precipice of life and death and not bat an eye if I just…jumped. There is a war inside me, where storm clouds roll over the sun and no matter how far I run, no matter how far I leap, it just grows colder and more numb. I hate feeling empty, but worse than that is the emptiness that can’t be filled.
