It feels like there’s a wall.
A wall without a door, one that stops me from being able to cross over.
A wall that seems to keep all the secrets in, the truths that would never be told until the truth is distilled, sanitized into itty bitty palatable pieces, pieces that no longer have those jagged edges. I do not know if this is w good or bad thing.
Somehow I feel like the narrative is changing, as people change - and I’m not entirely sure if I’m ready for it.
Uncertainty has always killed me.
I don’t know if I can scale that wall.
But one can always dream.
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