09 Şubat 2019, Cumartesi
saat: 06:04
Not a day goes by without thinking of how silly I was yesterday or two yesterdays or ten ago. Like I live in a perpetual state of amused regret. I’m sensitive and too busy or tired to keep up a guise that says otherwise. I’m sensitive and I want to be kind to everyone. And I want everyone to be kind to me. What a dream, that kindness. My voice is very small right now. I do my work, and then I think of work. I’m very tired—near sleep though it is early still—and thinking about what I can write safely. Thinking of how all the good I think could be so easily weaponized, turned poison. Wondering as well the point of the story where I end and the rest of the world begins. Thinking I’d better not. Sad how we can set up inside ourselves these tiny revolts of self against self.
