nklaw
and i just waste it; this life of mine. hand over hand. the days slip in between each other and nestle in ugly spurs. what did you do today? how many hours have i spent, neither truly here nor truly there. just frozen. wanting desperately to begin anything. get up and shower or work out or drink water or make a change or dance along or be a person - just get up. my insides, coating the edges of blank atrophy. how hard can it truly be? people do this every day. they make their life every day. why can't i? why am i stuck here? why am i stuck like this, with only my heart and no boat? the shifting warning - you need to start swimming, you can't always just float. but what else, when my limbs don't move and there's no sound for the breach of my throat? what else, and where am i going? what shore am i supposed to even be wading out for? nothing and nothing and nothing. the swinging, empty bridge, and no railing.
“Go out and do something. It isn’t your room that’s a prison, it’s yourself.”
— Sylvia Plath (via sylviaplathquotes)
“6+3 = 9 but so does 5+4. The way you do things isn’t always the only way to do them. Respect other people’s way of thinking.”
— Unknown