so lately, none of my metaphors make any sense. I have compared my tears to an ocean, and my sadness to raw noodles in this hot, boiling mess of a world, but somewhere in between is the little voice that cries “imperfection” at every word.
& often you think you have mastered the silence of your mind, until that silence is all you need and then you find, there’s a lot in your head that needs to be said. Some of it so loud you can’t speak, or write, or breathe… just think without really thinking, just worry and exist
& wake up and worry and exist. Today, we will crawl beneath the blanket and sing till we sleep. In our dreams, we will dance, be happy, and bask in the sheer glee of a world entirely in our control, before the morning comes & we wake up and worry and exist.
& when the joy doesn’t come with the morning, we will look at the world before us, and tell it about our dream. The one in which we were kings, in which existing was not a burden and we were truly happy… or as close as we probably will ever get.