I feel cracked around the edges, like I’m pulling apart at the seams a bit. It’s a temporary feeling, of course, but real enough. No matter how hard I struggle to keep myself together, the strain begins to show eventually.
Ah well. This is my truth as much as being in love with John Brownstone or my own ass. Sometimes, though, that strain is something I consent to and even beg for. Why? Because sometimes I need the outside to mirror the inside in order to find any relief.