Empty connections.
Hollow conversations.
Running dry.
I Write When I Feel
Empty connections.
Hollow conversations.
Running dry.
Overwhelming
I wish I could enter a phase in my life where I am truly at peace.
Alive hopefully.
Tired of what life has become. Fearfull of what it might be. Longing for what was.
A toxic cycle, interrupted by gaps of happiness.
I feel like dettaching.
A farce. I keep trying to strive for a reason to stay… But it seems pointless.
I feel like I’ve lost a friend… Perhaps more. Ones that I treasure. Maybe I’m just the toxic one. No, not maybe. I know I can be toxic. But I try. I really try to be a great friend whenever I am capable.
I listen. I give advice (when asked for). I give my time and sincere sympathies. I empathize even. But I stay strong for them. I become optimistic when they aren’t able. I provide a shoulder to lean on, both in a metaphorical and literal sense.
I exert effort. I shower them with whatever form of love I can muster. I think of them when I shop. I remember their favorites, their likes, and their dislikes. What I have, I love to share. And I won’t use that against them.
I am present. I love being there for them. I spend time with them when I am able. I like their company, even digitally.
But.. all these can be translated from a negative perspective.
Maybe I’m too clingy. Their world will not revolve around me. They will get tired of me if there’s too much of me present.
Maybe I give too much. I expend too much time, effort, and resources. Maybe the way I feel about them isn’t the same way they feel about me. No, I’m not saying they hate me. But I make my friends my world knowing I can’t be theirs.
I’m only their friend. I expect too much.
I’m lonely.
I hate life
Stuck in a daydream, wishing to live in a fantasy.
Maybe I’m more of a bad person than I thought and I’m just paying my dues slowly.
My greatest fear comes back and haunts me