Just for fun, maybe

𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝚋𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚍 𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚖 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚠𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚍 𝚠𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚞𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚍𝚛𝚢.

𝙱𝚞𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚠𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚍𝚒𝚎 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚜 𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚒𝚗𝚎𝚍 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚋𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚍.

𝙳𝚘 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚍𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚖 𝚊𝚋𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚖𝚎?

𝙳𝚘 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚍𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚖 𝚊𝚋𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚖𝚢 𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚐𝚒𝚟𝚎𝚗𝚎𝚜𝚜?

𝙳𝚘 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚍𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚖 𝚊𝚋𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚕𝚒𝚏𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚑𝚊𝚍 𝚋𝚎𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚎

𝚏𝚎𝚎𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚐𝚞𝚒𝚕𝚝?

𝙳𝚘 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚗𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚎𝚜 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚐𝚒𝚟𝚎𝚜 𝚢𝚘𝚞

𝚋𝚊𝚌𝚔 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚙𝚊𝚒𝚗 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚌𝚊𝚞𝚜𝚎𝚍 𝚖𝚎?

𝙳𝚘 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚍𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚖 𝚊𝚋𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚟𝚎𝚗?

𝙳𝚘 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚗𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚎𝚜 𝚊𝚋𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚑𝚎𝚕𝚕?

𝙸 𝚍𝚘𝚗'𝚝 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚊𝚠𝚊𝚒𝚝𝚜 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚊𝚏𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚍𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚑,

𝚋𝚞𝚝,

𝚒𝚗 𝚕𝚒𝚏𝚎,

𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚜 𝚠𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚏𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚊𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚝 𝚙𝚒𝚎𝚌𝚎 𝚋𝚢 𝚙𝚒𝚎𝚌𝚎

𝚝𝚛𝚢𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚘 𝚎𝚛𝚊𝚜𝚎 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞'𝚟𝚎 𝚍𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚖𝚎,

𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚠𝚘𝚗'𝚝 𝚋𝚎 𝚊𝚋𝚕𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚋𝚎𝚐 𝚊𝚗𝚢 𝚐𝚘𝚍𝚜 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚐𝚒𝚟𝚎𝚗𝚎𝚜𝚜.

I can feel the control slip

as I fall deeper and deeper.

No matter how much I try,

I can't bring myself not to want this...

I feel like I'm losing it.

this version of me,

I can't bring myself to pull away

This soul-wrenching craving of mine

for familiarity and comfort

often collides with my desperate want—need—

for freedom; from the world, from myself... - mira 2012

You speak of devotion as if I wasn’t the sacrifice laid beneath your feet,

As if my pain wasn’t the price of your peace.

All this was still fine until I saw you washing your hands and pretending the blood wasn’t even mine.

-@triyanwrites (ig)

Oh, I once kept a secret so long it fossilized. I can show you: here, the impression it left on my ribs, and here the sediment of each year.

I am both the dig site and the artifiact...

There comes a cruel silence after twenty-six. A silence no one warns you about.

You begin to understand why some people disappear halfway through their degrees, why some stop replying, why laughter leaves their mouths like a language they no longer remember.

You understand why a person who once burned with dreams suddenly chooses quiet corners, empty rooms, long drives with no destination.

You start to understand,

The things the soul once begged for, love, tenderness, purpose, touch, become luxuries, you convince yourself You can live without.

Letting go of friendships becomes easy Letting go of the love of your life becomes easy, because you cannot imagine anyone choosing you completely. Letting go of dreams becomes easy, because surviving has become exhausting enough.

And the cruelest part is— you still wake up every morning.

Still smile when spoken to. Still say “I’m fine.” Still carry groceries, answer texts, go to work.

While something inside you quietly dies.

That is when you finally understand why some people change. Why some people go silent forever. Why some people stop living long before they are gone.