Xtine

trust that everything will fall into place without you forcing it there.

the exhaustion, though. every morning and every day, like a weight. a hand that dampens sound. every joy quietly extinguished. under that weight, you wriggle.

if you had the ability to stop time, your first thought has always been i'd sleep until i wasn't tired anymore. just that. just sleep. you are so fucking tired of constantly-pushing. you can carry it, sure. but fuck. just for a second, if everything could slow down. if all that kindness and justice and trying that you pour out into the universe - if it would finally fucking find its way back to you. if it could - just for a second - finally be easy.