Ink-Stained Whispers

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 Scribbling down pain might just be the best way to cope with it.

Slowly learning to tolerate it.

Some nights, it gusts over me like the winter breeze.


Some days are a burden, more like every day.


After a while, no matter how hard I try, I feel this dread, as if something is still holding me back.


Why can't I speak what I have to?

Why can't I be myself around the ones I wish to hold on to?


These mood shifts, these constant reminders of not being enough, this fear of rejection. Yet amid all this chaos, that smile.


A smile I'd die for a thousand times.

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