Maybe one day I will get a hold on this thing called self.
I will understand why I cry.
I will understand why I’m so angry at things that are supposed to be beautiful.
Some days I think I’m winning, but it’s only a brief thought without any substance called proof.
I don’t know.
My answers just keep digging bigger and bigger holes of unanswered pits of questions that I keep finding.
One day it will all make sense and I can throw my shovel away.
