Iāve been worn weary.
I think the loneliest moments are when iām most vulnerable. I donāt know which causes which.
We talk and talk and talk but I wonder sometimes if weāre any good at listening.
August tugs at my bones and I want to curl up into a ball and hibernate until my heart feels whole again.
Instead Iāll take my gentle flaying, my sweet serenade of sorrow and come back again tomorrow. Normal this time, I swear.
Im good at making promises I canāt keep












