squinteastwood7

it’s friday and you think the week wasn’t so bad after all; you didn’t do half of what you should have done, but you trick yourself into believing that you’re enough. when did disaster become the new normal? it hurts to read nowadays. the worlds hidden in print taunt you seductively with their million flavours you can never actually taste, and it’s a game that ends in brokenness. you devour the books anyway. when does it stop? you wonder sometimes, in the breaths between meetings and chores and workouts and meals and so much all the time, when exactly you’re going to settle for what you have. it’s liberating, i thought, and yet you struggle. maybe life does end when you stop wishing for better. despite all the wishes you stay still, drowning in the status quo. the weight you need to lose hangs on softly like regret, the decisions you avoid making coat every single thought. your family looks up to you with a sureness and positivity that cracks you just a bit more