I Am Tired. Every Part Of Me Is Tired. I Am So Thankful Daily For The Brightest Blessings. But I Have

No extravagant words. No description. I just feel confused and lost. Maybe that's a good thing. I'll find my way back somehow... Some way.

Such seldom occurrences—when I'm not really certain of my thinking. Deem it an anomaly to my own senses. Perhaps I'm foregoing ahead of the seasons. Like a used pencil, my intellect is dull. But it keeps going, just like that pencil.

Collectively, I'm almost cognisant thoughts. I'm also blissfully blind at the same time. I'm trying to navigate this unique life sphere. Limitless and tactless, entwined with skepticism, assurance, elation, and deliberation. I am both unaware and aware of everything, everywhere and on all seas.

Whatever might happen, whatever might be, I'll be alright.

And my soul... aches.

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

Der richtige Weg. Oder das Vorfahrtsrecht, um aus jedem Fehler etwas Besonderes zu machen.

Somewhere, somehow, something... All the questions, hurt, overthinking, and pain— it'll all end. Because... Tomorrow's a new day. And that's what keeps me going.

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.

𝐓𝐡𝐞 “𝐎𝐝𝐝” 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠—

I don't belong. I don't belong, belong. Do I not belong? Am I an alien? Do I not belong in this world?

Despite not asking the question, I gaze to the skies for answers. And yet, I wonder...what? Do I belong or am I meant to feel this? Feel what? This. This...being?

The intense chewing has bruised my lips, numbing my fingertips, causing my eyes to widen and my soul to awaken. Am I not bound to this life, to this experience, to this world that has been shoved upon me. Like compacted snowballs. Do I belong here?

I could walk the tightrope of mounting cathartics and pave a new way. I could even go down the path of death, and my mind has ever so carefully migrated to that area.

This strange feeling. These strange feelings. Odd feeling, this, be I, me, the feeling. Does anyone...anyone have answers? Do I belong here, there, anywhere? Am I needed, wanted, loved, or appreciated? Do I belong...?

Bis zum nächsten Mal! 💋

ANGELINA JOLIE  Gia, 1998  – dir. Michael Cristofer