2026-04-14

I am happy but discontent. Digging further into myself, I found that this is what constitutes my grief and what it has cultivated within me. I am in a state of tension between the states of "acceptance and serenity" and "restlessness and rebellion." I am always in a state of in-betweenness where I am forced to sit through this struggle of understanding why I am how I am and where I am. To say the least, I am more bound to the question of "when."

The past has become this omnipresent constant. I am a slave to this inadmissible guilt that defines my silent animosity to the world.

There is always an instinct to run away, stuck in this fear of the world pulling the rug once again from under my feet. But for some reason, this looming constant irrational perception of imminent threat has been my company for half a year now and I can finally say that I am only beginning to understand. Where the feelings don't stay away, the place begins to become familiar. This palpable absence, this void, this inconsolable self, is only recognizable by the whiteness of pain: of how I know the horrors and divinity of loving.