‌‌ ‌Quietude

‌ ‌I'm sick of the bad memories that keep hitting me one after another. God, just give me one fucking good moment.

‌ ‌I carry shit I never talk about.

‌ ‌It's weird how you can be surrounded by people and still feel completely empty.

‌ ‌I carry the weight of words I'll never say out loud.

‌ ‌It's weird how you can be surrounded by people and still feel completely empty.

‌ ‌Keep your mouth shut and your eyes open. The truth doesn’t knock, it breaks in when you least expect it.

‌ ‌Being missed feels nice, but missing someone is a quiet kind of hell.

‌ ‌Wake up. Work. Sleep. Repeat. What the fuck kind of life is this?

‌ ‌Happy memories don't feel happy anymore. Now, they only bring grief and a heavy ache of missing what's gone.

‌ ‌Even if we stop talking tomorrow, everything you told me dies with me.

‌ ‌The day I talk to you about my past, know that I've trusted you with parts of me I usually keep hidden.

‌ ‌I'm calm. Just not with the people I love.