𝐼𝑡'𝑠 𝑎𝑙𝑙 𝑡𝒉𝑒 𝑠𝑎𝑚𝑒.

It's the likelihood of being caught that creates "danger." Unless you believe that whatever you do will enrich your life, there is no true danger.

And my soul... aches.

- Sylvia Plath, from the 'Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath'

Heeeeelllll yeaaaaah.

Don't ask me "wyd" i really just be in my room going insane and being a danger to myself

The daily check in|

My doubts serve as an additional sense. Maybe? Whatever. This is how I am currently doing at the moment and just like everything it will surely change. I feel seen. Open. Yet cloudy at the same time.

I feel that I'm being forced to walk a line of conformance with my arms tied above my head. Should I falter... I will be doomed. Arms tied. My balance must be perfect.

However, that is the beauty of life, the essence. While I will fight every inch of my being to never walk the line of conformity, I applaud the part of me that feels it can drag me to it.

𝐀𝐬 𝐚𝐧 𝐨𝐮𝐭𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐫, 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐬𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐬. 𝐈 𝐧𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞 𝐚𝐧 𝐨𝐮𝐭𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐫, 𝐈 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐜𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐰𝐞𝐥𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐝 𝐦𝐞. 𝐒𝐨 𝐈 𝐰𝐞𝐥𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐝 𝐢𝐭 𝐚𝐠𝐚𝐢𝐧. 𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐨𝐮𝐭𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐬 𝐛𝐲 𝐟𝐚𝐫 𝐦𝐲 𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐨𝐟 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐢𝐭 𝐦𝐞𝐚𝐧𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞 𝐮𝐧𝐢𝐪𝐮𝐞.

Ja. Einzigartig. Das uralte Gedichtgerät. Schön.

Reflection.

I find myself somewhat amusing the grim ideas. Having trouble finding the right words while having a lot to say. How your brain may change and turn against you while you're silent.

I am everywhere and nowhere at once. once to be seen, loved, and heard. Am I being heard? Can you sense me? How much longer can I take? stuck in translation, clinging to hurtful hope. Hurting. aching and wishing. Indeed, such is life.

—Smile

It's neither the happiest nor the most faultless smiles. It's the concept of a grin. The crooked, the dimples, the hurt, and the fray were all present. Pain and anguish collided. So, why are you smiling? What if the only thing that comes out of it is pain?

There isn't any cookie wisdom. There was no extraordinary serendipitous conversation. To be able to smile despite it. Pushing forward while knowing that it could all end at any moment brings a smile to your lips. It doesn't matter if it's for a second or for Infinity. Those lips will curl, and that soul will express gratitude.

Smile...

Grin...

Repeat...

Every day is unique. Nothing will ever be the same again. Even the similarities will never be identical. Both tragedies and joys will never fall on the same plain again. And why are we so adamant about refusing something we've written and are familiar with?

When we had a very lovely day. When something excites us. When the day welcomes us with its silkiness and softness. We grow fixated on the idea that each day will be identical to the previous one. All of the fortune cookie wisdom vanishes.

As a result, each day is unique. Why is it so difficult for us to live each day in this manner?

Angelina Jolie photographed by Philip Wong, 1991

Franz Kafka, The Diaries of Franz Kafka: 1910-1913