averaged

blur calm waters dawn daylight
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i don’t recognize my life anymore, it’s living itself

there isn’t a place i can rest my head that feels like my home

maybe that was a concept only for childhood

~

i’m like tempered glass, i can take anything and never break

but i feel nothing either

~

my highs and my lows have been averaged out

to a near-constant forbearance

~

i don’t know if i’m stronger for keeping it together

or stronger if i’d let myself unravel

~

it makes me happy to make you happy

but i don’t know who i am anymore

or if i should strive to be anyone at all

Coming home

blur coffee cold cup
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The view outside is so clear now that we’ve cleaned the windows.

The silence this spare room offers at late hours despite the near-constant sound of tires gripping road, engines conbusting outside, is like the sanctuary of my consciousness despite the constant traffic in my mind.

~

I feel like who we really are cannot be suppressed, even if the environment and circumstances change. Here I am, years later, sitting at the windowsill, writing in this journal and looking out, and in.

I think I’ll always find my windowsill no matter where I go.

May there be many more quiet nights like these.