failing in so many ways/succeeding in so many ways/somehow still getting out of bed in the morning
in a panic I feverishly journaled a few nights ago. I couldn’t find the pages in the morning. not sure if it was a dream or some wonderful accident.
I remember writing that, in order to survive, we must have faith that things happen for a reason
how terribly sad and halting to believe there’s no thought or justification behind why things happen
how terribly sad and halting that I’ll never be able to believe anything different
"There’s something disturbing about recalling a warm memory and feeling utterly cold."