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I tell you I feel tired and you say, “But you slept for twelve hours,” and I knew you didn’t get it.
No one knows how much she cried last Wednesday because she was quiet about it, and to some, pain is only noticed when it is public, and loud, and obvious.
We were too busy chasing survival that we didn’t even consider that the acts of surviving and restoring would hurt too.
Sometimes I feel like I only feel anything when something is going wrong;
It’s the nature of my beast; I care the most or I care the least, never ever in between.
Odds are, you nudged shoulders on a busy street with a broken human today, and you didn’t even know it. Practice empathy. Practice kindness. Always.
When they ask me how long you’ve been dead, you die in my head all over again.
There’s stability in the aftermath of instability. There’s beauty in hard transitions.
Though it may seem magical and swift from the outside, any transformation can be gruesome deep inside the chrysalis.
I’ve sort of gotten used to seeing my family be a family without me on the internet.
To the untrained eye, these coping mechanisms often look a lot like self-destruction.
Maybe to destroy yourself just enough so your current existence can no longer be sustained. This way, there will be no other choice but to rebuild, to come back as the person you’ve earned the right to become.
My overthinking is only romantic when it is described as a wanderlust mind that spans galaxies; not when I call it what it is, obsessive and intrusive.
Reality disturbs some of the same people who plead for authenticity.
