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You’re asking what keeps me hopeful?
Knowing it’s not over yet.
Waking up every day, slipping on my shoes, grabbing my bag, and heading out to make it through another day without checking the calendar.
And you know how I do it?
By not thinking!
If I think about it, I’d lose my mind. I’d panic at where I’m standing, feel disgusted by who I am, and everything around me would turn into darts, piercing my mind and soul.
But here’s the thing sometimes I see it.
That darkness, that final curtain! No matter how much I try to ignore it, sometimes it pushes my hands off my eyes and forces me to face it, scaring me to death.
That’s why I sink into myself sometimes.
I see sadness, I speak sadness, and I start believing I’m trapped in this endless grief with no escape. I’m stuck, Theo!
Caught between accepting reality and hoping for days that haven’t come.
I want to tell myself nothing’s real not this constant, tangible mess, nor that deceptive high.
I wish there were no expectations. No demands from myself, no waiting for something.
But it’s like I was born to wrestle with the unwanted, to just wait.
I exist to suffer through all this through talent that led nowhere, a heart never satisfied, and a body left with nothing but the exhaustion of it all.
And my deepest fear, Theo? That the darkness at the end is the real truth. 0 reply
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