Maybe I ain’t drowning, just treading water in a tide I didn’t choose. The waves ain't as violent tonight, but I can still feel the undertow pulling at my feet. I haven’t quit, haven’t snapped, haven’t let the weight of it all bury me. But the exhaustion still lingers, sitting heavy in my bones like a storm that hasn’t decided if it wants to break.
I woke up today, and that counts for something. Pushed myself through the motions, showed up where I had to, even if my mind wandered elsewhere. I don’t love the game, but I haven’t folded my hand yet. Some days, survival feels like a victory. Maybe that’s enough for now. Maybe that’s how I inch toward something better.
I still get that itch to walk away, burn it all down, start fresh—but reality tugs at me, reminding me that recklessness ain’t the same as freedom. And yet… I can’t shake the feeling that something’s shifting. Like I’m standing at the edge of a decision I ain’t fully processed yet. A door is cracked open somewhere, but I ain’t sure if I should step through or if it’s just another illusion.
The fear’s still there, whispering doubts, but so is something else. A flicker of defiance. A voice that ain’t willing to settle, even when it feels like I got no other choice. Maybe I’m not as stuck as I thought. Maybe I’m just waiting—gathering strength, waiting for the right moment to move.
One way or another, I know this ain't the final scene.
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