Writing is therapeutic, until it’s not.

The finality of death is so crazy to me. It’s so crazy how in one second, someone can seize to exist on earth forever. Only memories & traces of them left behind.

I’ve suddenly become scared of getting older, because that means I’m closer to my death & so are my parents. The fear started off as mere fried thoughts, but now they’ve become residents in my sober mind.

Why is love never enough? All the extras can be exhausting.

Why do wicked people live long, while the good die young ? Why do people have to die ?

The littlest things make me question my purpose. I tend to question things more often than I’d like to admit, and sometimes I wish I could just LIVE.

Sometimes phone calls/texts drain me. Actually, most times. I don’t wish to change this though. I’m very low maintenance.

I wish I didn’t feel things as deeply as I do. It’s umm, what’s the word… DISGUSTING. Yes. I’m very much over it.

I should pray more. I will.



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