Distant

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“The way human beings speak is so heartbreaking to me—we never sound the way we want to sound. We’re always stopping ourselves in mid–sentence because we’re so terrified of saying the wrong thing. Speaking is a kind of misery. And I guess I comfort myself by finding the rhythms and accidental poetry in everyone’s inadequate attempts to articulate their thoughts. We’re all sort of quietly suffering as we go about our days, trying and failing to communicate to other people what we want and what we believe.”

– Annie Baker

It’s getting difficult again. The past few weeks have been painful to go through, albeit efforts in attempting to mask them, they still slip through the cracks of the facade and get faced with the realities of the world. Do people care? Maybe they do, maybe they don’t.

Being in an emotionally vulnerable state where it takes something deceptively minor to just tip you off the scales and start bouldering away and into an abyss. By the time you realise what’s happening, you’ve reached the depths within, and it makes coming out seem almost impossible.

Self love is not easy, but never was it expected to be that difficult. I get tired too. If it’s frustrating for the people around me to witness this vicious cycle, what about me?

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Sometimes not speaking says more than all the words in the world.

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