The worst part is knowing that all this rage, all this anger I feel right now, will be gone by morning.
I’ll wake up, and that raw intensity will have faded, replaced by the same desperate need for validation, for the approval that feels like survival itself.
I’m caught in the thrill of being liked, the quiet satisfaction of being appreciated. And I hate that. I hate knowing it. Because I’m aware—painfully aware—that it’s wrong.
That I don’t deserve it, or that maybe I’m broken for needing it this way.
So I compromise.
I settle somewhere between self-loathing and acceptance, finding a fragile equilibrium, held together by contradictions.
-31 Oct, 2024.
(It's a Diwali Night)
YOU ARE READING
I write my feelings here
SonstigesThere's gonna be no story description since this isn't a story. They're my feelings I can talk to no one about, they're real and not a story.
