It’s much easier to see the faults in something, or someone, than to admit I have a barrage of my own.
I put the pressure of perfection into each to-do and end up feeling hopeless when the reality of imperfection comes through.
It feels as if the weight is inescapable and the darkness beneath it, blinding. Slowly, it’s suffocating you.
we are lost in wonder as to what you would have been.
so, if something I post is about a high school experience and the next is about when I turned eight, know that I am a work in progress.
Sure enough, the side mirror slammed into the mailbox and immediately fell off it’s hinges. I hit the brakes and felt the rush of panic and remorse come over me.