propriétaire d’un cœur solitaire


Sometimes, when I feel like this, I wish there was a food I could eat, an activity I could start, a book I could read, a chore I could do, that would make me feel better. Maybe I want the life I want because when I’m living like that, there is no time to feel like this. When it hits, it’s usually when I’m making breakfast, when I have a much-wished for day to myself, and then it lingers until I go to sleep at night. It’s its own presence, almost a companion rather than a feeling, and it makes me want to run, or sleep, or drink. But I don’t run, or sleep, or drink, I just sit with it, and fruitlessly hope it goes away.