Read on Twitter
( hah . . . )
( time for the ultimate irony. now, at least just this once, I'll be ... )
maybe, a little explanation wouldn't hurt. I've already been toiling for so long with no progress. https://twitter.com/deviatious/status/1351378482169839618
( time for the ultimate irony. now, at least just this once, I'll be ... )
maybe, a little explanation wouldn't hurt. I've already been toiling for so long with no progress. https://twitter.com/deviatious/status/1351378482169839618
Was I betrayed? Someone with context could make that argument, but such a conclusion isn't conducive to my maturation. I think so, because in my eyes, I was the one who failed, who never upheld his promises, who took too much and gave so little.
I wasn't betrayed, I was the betrayer. I worried for others only to the end that they worried for me, because that was what I feigned to lack: worry for myself. Complacency. Even as I accept the fact that I will only ever be myself, my restlessness with the notion pertains.
I'm making progress. I swear. I swear. I swear.
I'm making progress. Not always, but sometimes.
Be patient. Trust the process.
Don't look down on me bitch. I can be up there too. Up there, with everyone. I can be special.
I'm making progress. Not always, but sometimes.
Be patient. Trust the process.
Don't look down on me bitch. I can be up there too. Up there, with everyone. I can be special.
It's slow. I'm slow. Unbelievably slow. Why can't I just do the things I want to, if I want to do them? Why does everything ... *everything,* take so much time? When do I find my identity?
With every second, my impatience converges closer to ... nothing. Nothing. There's never an end to living.
I do this, (for her)
for her -- no, no, for me. I do this for me. I always have.
But I wish I could give up. I wish I never had to worry.
...
That's a lie. Really, I wish I *could* worry. Worry for myself.
for her -- no, no, for me. I do this for me. I always have.
But I wish I could give up. I wish I never had to worry.
...
That's a lie. Really, I wish I *could* worry. Worry for myself.
So, you got that?
