Super done with trying to play it low key
Man I’m not low key
I’m not chill if it means unsentimental and aloof
I’m emotional and I write shit like this down
I’m cliché by nature, I can’t even hide it
But now I’ve accepted that
And I’m gliding with it and its working like hell.
“You’re the only one who knows when you’re using things to protect yourself and keep your ego together and when you’re opening and letting things fall apart, letting the world come as it is - working with it rather than struggling against it. You’re the only one who knows.”—Pema Chodron (via yeshecholwa)
I have lost myself. In the realest of ways. For everything that I took for granted - the pink in my cheeks to the blade in my speech – is all but illusion. Because though she who I’ve known since preschool has lived and touched people, she has ended and flown away. She who spun in pink skirts with conviction, well, she is nothing but a string tied to a star. Perhaps we die many times. Looking back at the stranger we now mourn, and looking forward to the stranger we yearn for. That is why I have lost myself in the smog of an undetermined interlude. I am lost somewhere between whom I was for lack of wisdom and whom I will be in spite of wisdom. I am floating above ground because I am detached from my past self but have not yet been pulled by the weight of the person I will be.