02,,09,,25

again i felt a little left behind

like this life wasn't meant for me, and in a lot of ways i just don't feel like i was meant to be born as a human in this place, the idea of being alive and living a life expected of me is suffocating

I feel like, to combat this, i must become unexpected and selfish

selfish enough to take parts of my life and reserve them only for me myself and for nothing more than my simple enjoyment

this is what i like about art

it allows me to visualise something i can't have, but can dream to be

and a lot of life is like that, i think.

it's difficult when you're constantly looking for what you want,

but when you make your own little joys from what you have, it becomes a little more damp

comforting and warm like the corner of the bedroom with the leaky air conditioner

it feels nice, like the condensation on the walls makes it feel like its breathing

and the paint starts to peel off and you just spend time scraping bits of it off of the wall.

right now i'm kind of in the muck, but its not all too bad, because i know it'll get better

if at the moment you have any kind of regret, whatever you can do to better it in the moment, presently, what you are able to do, that's what matters more than looking into the future for a more better planned outcome.

maybe you can think to yourself,

"at least i did it,"

i cut off contact with that person,

i gave you that love letter,

i asked the grocer for a plastic bag,

i lent someone a pen,

and even if you stumbled, or your words feel apart, 

or if you felt like it just wasn't enough,

then you can think back at those words.

"at least i did it."

at least it was, it happened, in one way or another, even if not ideal.