Questions

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Is it about the little things that, according to them, matter? Is it about the daily little struggles you go through with people and relationships you share with them, the struggles of self-esteem or for self in the first place?

This is so very chaotic. No, this isn’t a diary, this isn’t a blog. Tonight, I am just writing. Let’s not put a label onto it.

I see and feel continuously, daily, that time is running out. This anxiety kills. What do we keep our secrets for? Why are we so scared? How on Earth is it possible to fear things that altogether create one’s world?

I’m not confused. I’m just wondering. I could use some writing, but I’ve been terrible at it lately, leave alone gathering appropriate words.

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