Tired of the small talk if it leads to continued roadblocks; oh, you can't meet up? That is too sad. Another failed talking stage where I thought I might have had a chance, but you were bored, and I was experiencing limerence.
Back to the endless doom scrolling and streaming sad songs, writing poetry reminiscing on how I should continue writing music or finish that novel.
I contemplate taking on endless hobbies to distract myself; it seems like the sensible thing to do. But I forever question the type of inner work that needs to be done to eventually experience the love I exude and so unwaveringly give empty-handedly to strangers.
Must be a trauma I'm healing from or some sort of karmic reason.
I'm fatigued; this is a lot to unpack and dissect. For now, I'll just have to compress these feelings before I crash out.
-Mua
YOU ARE READING
A love letter to myself
PoetryFor every failed talking stage endured, a lesson can be learned: A Love Letter to Myself reflects this sentiment as I share poetry that will have you in your feelings and questioning why you would ever sell yourself short. Come along and embark on t...
