When I don’t permit myself to think, I’m fine. I even believe I’m in love with life. But once I stop and listen and rummage through the chaos of my soul, I always come out dejected.
It seems like all my strength seep out of me. I’m left weak. I feel awful. Useless. Empty.
Maybe I’m not as brave as I initially believe. I’m a great pretender.
I pretend I’m okay. I pretend everything around me is nice and dandy. I pretend tomorrow will be better than yesterday. I pretend I don’t care. I pretend that I could be nothing and still live because you have my back.
I pretend that problems are just a state of one’s mind, and that there’s a blurred line between being happy and being lonely.
I pretend that I have infinite days in this world. So I put off doing all the important things until it’s too late.
I couldn’t be more wrong.
