Maybe the idea of feeling secure in my own sadness is just an illusion, maybe not.
I find myself longing for everlasting happiness while still sitting in the darkness of my bedroom with the door closed and my blinds down.
It’s almost as if my body craves loneliness as it’s way out.
My mind replaces temporary with forever too often, like it doesn’t know any better.
I’ve dug a hole too deep for me to get out of and I’ve allowed myself to get comfortable in it.
Why does temporary scare me?