she used to stay up at night. Looking at her phone she sees no one was looking for her. Is she alone or is she addicted to the machine that became her lifeline-
Wake up she tells herself, it’s 3 in the morning why would she feel the urge to open her eyes so early.
If she looked out her window maybe she could see the moon yawning and the night illuminating a sidewalk that she walks past everyday yet never truly sees.
Now it’s 15 in the afternoon and she’s asleep. Her mind is trapped in a cycle of living in a dream- and disintegrating in the daytime.
Are we really living if we hate every part of it?
She wakes up- already waiting for the day to end
yet she has plans to conquer the world- but when she seee her phone empty she coincides with the power box and the life she so hopefully wants to conquer goes into the depth of empty promises and worn out shoes that has no more room to walk in.
She wants to yell- she’s tired of meeting with the moon every night, she became an absolute stranger to the sun, she wonders if she can ever get out of this loop and if it’s hopeless.
She’s lost everything when all she did was hold onto it.
Maybe if she let go- maybe if she took care of herself- maybe maybe maybe.
maybe?
the voices of the unheard
Perspective.
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