It feels like I've been away for too long.
It hasn't even been that long but yet life goes on, and so do you.
It hurts. It hurts knowing that things we used to do, now seem insignificant because time has altered them.

Picking at every memory we ever had that made me happy, and making them about my insecurities is exhausting.
Are they insecurities? Or is it just another proof of what society wants us to do?
Questioning ourselves to the point where we even question if anybody else will ever love us?