1am thoughts

dear me: 

i've always wondered about how everyone's internal voice sounds like. are they happy, bubbly, joyous with encouraging words at every step? or a gentle, calm and collected voice of reason? 

sometimes i feel that mine is a grinch, grumbling about life itself, about how it's so futile to search for a higher purpose - everything i've chased is an illusion, and loneliness is comfortable. 

but how can that be? after all the laughter, the smiles we exchange, the customary fist bumps - isn't all of that but customary? when we get back into our tiny homes, a box in a sea of grey, do we still smile? at how beautiful life can be, or perhaps a text from someone you adore - but more often than not we revert: smiles gone, tension released, but body heavy with wear and tear, and a weary reckoning on another identical day tomorrow.

sometimes i wish i had someone close, someone to call in the middle of the night to talk about absolutely nothing, someone to ask if i was feeling ok, to cheer me on while i hustle -

but perhaps i chose to be lonely. it is difficult to trust - so many of us are self-centered in our ways, the poor lament about their existence and the rich dip their toes into gold filled bathtubs and branded goods from head to toe - while lamenting about how difficult their life is -

and those who approach you: so many either have an agenda that you are done sieving out the rabble. is it a good position to be in: lonely, but powerful? not under the shrewd eye of the fox, waiting for the opportune time to make use of you, but it comes at a great cost - your phone stays silent and you only share your thoughts with no one but yourself.

but perhaps you could be your own best friend. sometimes i pat my own back and exclaim, " good job, buddy. it has been a difficult life but you have lived till now - and you are not ready to quit."

it has been a difficult life. sometimes i do feel like an imposter - i am gone through so much, and i am not where i want to be: but people think i am an airhead: floating through life, giggling at lame jokes and having fun clowning around. but do they know the baggage i pack away deep within, the could-haves and the has-beens? 

but the only person i could be lying to, is myself - but it works to keep me going. it's just the little moment where my skeletons peak out, hanging by the arm out of the closet like a dried little corpse: but i am consoled by the fact but my skeletons are dead - the past, memories that can no longer hurt me.

thanks to this little blog for being my little stash-away that no one will ever find. <3