Day by Day

It goes, we go, time goes, day by day. In the dishevelled light of day I find a bit of sense, sometimes. My thoughts are not me. I am bigger than my own self. Than my medications, than my diagnosis, than my past and present. The future nibbles at me because I can hold it at bay, I don’t have to be enveloped right away. Maybe darkness is just another form of light. We learn more from the troubles than the easy ways. Maybe what’s trying to come out of me is light, maybe I’m just confused, maybe I’m not as horrible as I think I am, maybe everything is bareable. Perfectly bareable.

About Undecided Pseudonym

A woman who remembers enjoying writing.
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