๐ผ๐ก'๐ ๐๐๐ ๐ก๐๐ ๐ ๐๐๐.
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.
๐๐ฌ ๐๐ง ๐จ๐ฎ๐ญ๐ฌ๐ข๐๐๐ซ, ๐ฒ๐จ๐ฎ๐ซ ๐ฌ๐ข๐ฅ๐๐ง๐๐ ๐ฉ๐ซ๐จ๐ฏ๐๐ฌ ๐ฒ๐จ๐ฎ๐ซ ๐ฌ๐ญ๐๐ญ๐ฎ๐ฌ. ๐ ๐ง๐๐ฏ๐๐ซ ๐ข๐ง๐ญ๐๐ง๐๐๐ ๐ญ๐จ ๐๐ ๐๐ง ๐จ๐ฎ๐ญ๐ฌ๐ข๐๐๐ซ, ๐ ๐ฐ๐๐ฌ ๐๐จ๐ซ๐๐๐ ๐ญ๐จ ๐๐ ๐จ๐ง๐ ๐ฐ๐ก๐๐ง ๐ญ๐ก๐ ๐ฌ๐ข๐ฅ๐๐ง๐๐ ๐ฐ๐๐ฅ๐๐จ๐ฆ๐๐ ๐ฆ๐. ๐๐จ ๐ ๐ฐ๐๐ฅ๐๐จ๐ฆ๐๐ ๐ข๐ญ ๐๐ ๐๐ข๐ง. ๐๐ก๐ข๐ฌ ๐จ๐ฎ๐ญ๐ฌ๐ข๐๐๐ซ ๐๐๐๐ฅ๐ข๐ง๐ ๐ข๐ฌ ๐๐ฒ ๐๐๐ซ ๐ฆ๐ฒ ๐จ๐ฐ๐ง ๐ข๐ง๐ญ๐๐ซ๐ฉ๐ซ๐๐ญ๐๐ญ๐ข๐จ๐ง ๐จ๐ ๐ฐ๐ก๐๐ญ ๐ข๐ญ ๐ฆ๐๐๐ง๐ฌ ๐ญ๐จ ๐๐ ๐ฎ๐ง๐ข๐ช๐ฎ๐.
Ja. Einzigartig. Das uralte Gedichtgerรคt. Schรถn.
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.
โSmile
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