Something feels heavy. Five minutes after 11 in the evening and I'm still climbing my way out of the cavernous grave that is my mind. Ironically, the only time when I felt light was this afternoon, when it wasn't my mind carrying the weight but my arms. Now, the silence has resurfaced, and I feel like the only way I'd be able to catch some sleep is if I unload some of the heaviness through words.
Three things running in my head, playing on loop like a broken record -- two questions and one reality:
One -- Am I staying and waiting for the right reasons?
Two -- What if I'm not and will never be enough?
Lastly -- The loneliest and most dangerous place in this world is the mind.
