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I can hardly describe happiness, but I can talk for hours ab..
🕑 Added 2024-05-28 12:00:07 +0000 UTC I can hardly describe happiness, but I can talk for hours about pain and torment. Happiness is experienced differently by everyone, but suffering is universal.The muse comes to me only when I am desperate. She is my only breath of fresh air, my only thread of salvation, and I pull on it only when everything else in life loses any meaning.
Is it possible to prove something to others when there is nothing to prove? Is it possible to show anything when happiness makes us love silence? Sometimes it seems to me that to become who I've always wanted to be, I need to torment myself endlessly, otherwise I will dissolve in the streams of happiness and there will be nothing left of me.
They say depressive states are the most fruitful for a person. I have sown so many fields, I have dug up so many beds, and there is still no harvest. Perhaps now is not the season, and I need to wait for the next year. And this, perhaps, is the scariest thing - when you don't know if something will grow this time, or if the seed rotted even in the embryo.
And you start digging, deeper and deeper. Your hands are already elbow-deep in the soil, but you still can't find that very seed. Did you even put it in the ground? Maybe it's even deeper? You keep digging and digging further, losing hope, afraid to discover that you were wrong all along, and there is no seed in you. Almost in a panic, on the verge of giving up, you finally feel something. It's it, what you put deep into the earth. So deep that neither water nor fertilizers could reach it.
And here you are, sitting at the depth of your soul, touching with your hands the seed that, as before, can be grown. You must forgive yourself for failing on the first try. And start over, despite the fear of failure again.
