It has the ability to become a narrator of life; the capability of allowing it to be truly lived instead of just survived.
It is the best friend of anxiety and depression, complementing them with the feeling of fear of intimacy, hesitancy towards accomplishing hopes and dreams.
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.
No matter how hard we try to make others happy in the way we speak or how we act, we continue to feel lonely and unloved.
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.