This morning i woke up.
Not for any reason other than I was given the opportunity to.
Waking up heavy without ever hitting three digits on the scale.
I have always known my soul is much older than my birthdate indicates.
This has always made it easy to relate and empathize to others but impossible to be understood by others.
The idea that I can heal wide spreads but never the reverse.
Usually, others make it worse.
Today I woke up,
carrying the weight of the world.
Without speaking to anyone yet but my beloved canine and feline.
No one asked me to carry their sorrows days, months, and years past our conversations.
It was taken upon myself to feel this deeply forever.
Dreaming of He that allowed me the opportunity to feel and exert the purest love I have ever felt.
Not because I long for Him, but because I fear that burning passion will never be ignited again.
Genuine effort is appreciated but still skeptical.
Every gesture has a catch.
Every being has its price.
What is this going to cost me?
The closest description to the way I feel is two words: not enough.
This is not to be confused with inadequacy.
More so, needing more.
Of what? Cannot be so sure.
I just feel how I feel and that is something I still do not fully understand.
Maybe I am in denial.
Maybe I am too hard on myself.
Perhaps just an “off” couple of days.
And this is living with clinical depression.
Love her at your own risk.