Under the old wood floor, dormant

choices in error

I woke up simple and tender, then life happened.

I worry I will always come after pieces, people and things in your life yet relentlessly placing first in your heart. Not because of anything other than myself. You’re always enough until you’re not enough. How’s that little bit of factual reasoning?
Fear is an ugly little bitch and it never protects you. Just gives you a semblance of contentment until the next time you realize you’ve just repeated everything you’ve always done. The same old familiar steps that feel sturdy as hell until you hit that one just right, or wrong, and you curse yourself again wondering what in the hell is wrong with you.

Things are tolerable until they aren’t. We tolerate what we don’t know backward and forward because it hasn’t stung us enough quite yet. Some people scream and yell, some people lash out, or some settle…

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