As I went to bed, I had a dream that approached me from the
deepest wisdom layer of my conscious, and said:
February is as dark as my insides. When I think I am myself,
is when my dopamine is worn off. My days are as gloomy as a Sunday, with a ray
of sunshine trying to believe in hope from behind its crying skies.
When I think of who I am, I think of all the lines that’s
been written before, all the words that’s been used, all the songs that’s been
sang.
What is a body without a soul? It is the person in the
mirror. The person who’s in constant fear, the same person who has no faith in
one’s self anymore, the person who when you look into their eyes, you see a
dark road that leads into its depth throughout their frightened vision.
I am the letter ‘f’ in fear, fearful, and frightful. I am the
new version of my old self. I am February.
I woke up from that message, walked to my kitchen, and made
myself a cup of coffee, thinking about my plans for the day.
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