I've often reassured myself that I don't need apologies to propel myself forward, nor closure from those who wronged me. Yet, there's a lingering ache within me that yearns for acknowledgement, for someone to recognize the impact of their actions. Throughout my life, it's been a consistent theme - the absence of remorse from those who've inflicted wounds upon me, the indifference to the ripple effect of their choices on my well-being. And as I reflect, I'm profoundly struck by the contrast between my earnest intentions and the callousness of their deeds. It's a paradoxical realization that while I strive for authenticity, the world often falls short in reciprocating that same level of genuineness and empathy.
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Silent Reveries
General FictionFor the deep thinkers. For the overthinkers. For the broken. And for the poets. My mind is a hushed labyrinth. This is woven from the threads of my unspoken truths.
