through feathered pens inked with blood and a scarred soul of overflowing abysmal ideologies; there sits an obscured entity, scribbling metaphors and ironies in a crumpled paper of her chaos, seeking for something out of all nothings.
and here she u...
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it might be a little frustrating to end a day quite unproductively, but time will come where youʼd have an epiphany of all these happenstances; where youʼd finally envision that infinitesimal dust of being brave enough to survive through the day is already something so dauntless.
you, you should somehow realize that the mere fact of being able to smile and be resilient amidst the obscurity of every passing second that seemed to move painfully slow is a progress—that spark of hope for the forlorn day to finally dissipate is progress. you should know that feeling a myriad of emotions spiraling down into the abyss of your soul, whereas also feeling the lack thereof, is fine; to be crestfallen is fine, to mourn over something unidentifiable is fine, to temporarily lose the life of your psyche is fine—it is valid and worthy and fine.
however, before ending your dreary day, i know that inside of you is a tiny voice, silently hoping for tomorrow to appear not so bleak as your today.
