If I weren’t so afraid of my own self, I’d probably write a lot more. And a lot more frequently. What is so scary? Why is it so hard to be honest with ourselves? To write our true feelings? To discuss the negative? To accept that we aren’t always love and smiles? What a shame, what a waste. The amount of times I backspace while I write is incredible. Tempted to write only what sounds sweet. Hiding the ugly thoughts, the crazy, because people couldn’t possibly handle it. There you go again; worried about others. What about you? Your sanity? The clarity you so desperately need. Why is it so hard then, to pour out? When you know you want to, when you NEED to. When every word, every sentence, every comma, every period, is cleansing. Why avoid what you love? Why refrain from this? Why do you starve yourself like this? So you ignore it. Maybe it’ll go away. But the thought is there. It’s always there. 


And maybe it doesn’t make sense, looking from the outside in. But it never fails me. I’ll always come back to you.