Sometimes I wonder how many times do I make this same question?
Sometimes I just want the answer is not vague. Or to accept, finally, the truth.
When will I feel that strange and sudden I burst into tears, put my hands inside neck and undo that knot that tightens my chest, something prevents me weird.
For some reason I can not, for some strange reason I do not cry. Not out. Because even though I'm broken inside, outside I'm full.
As much as I think you can not stand, I stand.
As much as I do not want to be there, I'm intact.
It's that kind of evil that you know exists, that you but do not scare you away. It is the feeding and starvation that kills you, what makes you sick and you cure, what is and walks away. Not the paradox is real and confusing.
believe that their destiny is solitude makes you bitter makes you tough on everyone and everything. I do not know when, or how I've changed. I'm different and that does not mean I'll stop looking out the window as it rains and wondering what might happen to me.
I may change again tomorrow or maybe not. What does it matter? Who cares?
Living is not easy, requires courage and constant struggle to give up but never a part of me, and I can not believe I'm so weak
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