thinks she can write only when she’s broken, only when the sadness spills, heavy and deep, like a flood that could drown her whole being.
she spends nights awake, tangled in the web of her own doubts, barely sleeping, four hours a day, wondering why she feels so tired, every single day.
she’s afraid of happiness, because with joy comes the silent mess, the fear that something will come and steal it away. with every moment of joy, she hears the ticking of a clock, counting down to the loss she knows is inevitable.
she cares too much, spends hours overthinking, analyzing things she can’t control, until her mind becomes a prison and she can’t find her way out.
she wishes they knew what it’s like in her skin, the weight in her chest, the ache deep within. how words get stuck, how feelings hide, while others speak with ease, she swallows hers inside. and when she can’t say what they need her to say, they call her cold, emotionless, and look away.
she watches the sky more than faces, trusts the moon more than promises, because the sky doesn’t ask her to explain. It just shines, quiet, constant— a reminder that it’s okay to be alone sometimes.
she knows, she built the walls herself, closed the doors, swallowed the key, not because she wanted to be alone, but because letting people in felt like opening her veins, letting them take pieces of her she didn’t know how to get back.
it hurt too much. it always hurt too much.
she wasn’t always like this, wasn’t born with the walls she’s built around her heart,
wasn’t born so guarded, so closed off, so heavy with the things she can’t say.
the world did that. the noise, the loss, the constant need to be strong,
while every part of her wanted to collapse. It made her forget how to feel without thinking of the consequences. It made her forget what it’s like to trust, to love without wondering when it will all fall apart.
she needs to learn that it’s okay to be broken, to feel the cracks in her bones,
to let herself be tired, to not have all the answers.
she’s still trying, trying to find the pieces of herself that she lost along the way,
trying to accept that it’s okay to not be okay, and to love herself for who she is.
Lucid writing.
Love this Pri. Felt like i was reading a part of me ;)
Keep writing ❤️