There are days when being alive feels so good.
For a while it was what I looked forward to.
Every time I had a bad day, a bad week, a bad month, I would tell myself that one day I’m going to wake up and love life again.
I’m afraid it’s been a long time since I’ve felt that way.
Living for other people is exhausting.
Why would I stay alive to let other people love me
When I can’t even love myself?