saint of strays

pp by hey4ro trying to discover how to be part of something without losing myself

[saintofstrays-s]

Longing

Oh, how I crave to be understood. Having someone stand before me and utter the overused words "I see you," and to feel it.

Feel it deep in the marrow of my bones, feeling they can see every small wrinkle and the darkness that hides inside them.

But at the same time, oh, how I crave to be forgotten.

For my name to become a sound stolen by the wind. For it to become an empty vessel of a word, renewed and ready to carry new meaning.

[saintofstrays-s]

Do you crave my kisses, or do you just need your lips to be kissed?

Darling, tell me, is it my touch that you seek, or are you unbearably afraid of the cold?

Oh, forgive my question, I know it must hurt to stand in front of it.

But I cannot escape it.

It hammers down on me every single time our skins melt into one.

[stupiderat]

Agott Arklaum

[virginsuicide1]

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

[saintofstrays-s]

Working a corporate job was the best and worst experience of my life (professionally speaking).

There was something so magical about going to the office, connecting with people, laughing everything off, finding companionship. The structure of having set times for everything was also nice for a change. Knowing I could grow, build a careerpath, being supported by my team and my boss. They make you feel part of it all, valued, important.

I'd never had that because I've always been a freelancer, working alone in odd hours of the day and night. Finishing projects that nobody really cared for, for fees that were never good enough to afford a cup of fancy-ish bad coffee.

But it was also incredibly time and energy consuming. It drove me to insanity knowing that lunch was at the same time every day and if I wasn't back after that sad half-hour I was granted, my metrics would collapse on me. Knowing I was being monitored 24/7, and that every single movement was recorded. A repetitive task being done over and over again, 7 hours a day, 5 times a week.

It's almost like making a soul contract with the devil.

It offers belonging, predictability, a place at the table. The comfort of seeing the same faces every morning and slowly becoming part of something larger than yourself. He offers certainty in a world that usually has none, specially in a latin american country.

And in exchange, he asks for small things at first. Your mornings maybe part of your afternoons. Then the peaceful hours when your mind used to wander and think. The freedom to decide when to work and when to stop. The ability to disappear for a day because the weather is beautiful or because you feel too heavy to wake up in time.

The trade seems reasonable until one day you realize that your life has become measurable. Your productivity, your breaks, your performance, your value, absolutely everything translated into numbers and reports and dashboards. It flattens the complexity of being a human.

Yet even then, walking away isn't easy.

Because for all its flaws, there is something deeply human about arriving somewhere and being expected. About hearing your name across the room or sharing complaints over bad coffee and laughing through another impossible customer screaming on the line. About knowing that if you vanished tomorrow, someone would notice the empty chair.

Maybe that's why corporate life feels so strange... It feeds a hunger and starves another. It gives you roots while clipping your wings, as cliche as it might sound. It makes you feel both profoundly connected and impossibly trapped.

[sketchtoons]

TW: SUI(CIDE) IDEATION

Contex: Nightmare is on a path to just take all negativity with themselves, that's all

[saintofstrays-s]

Feeling is so difficult.

It all feels so devastatingly huge and I feel so overwhelmingly small. A perpetually almost broken creature, holding on to life because it's the only thing it knows.

Every emotion arrives larger than the previous, carrying the weight of a thousand others yet to come. Grief drags old memories behind it and fear borrows from the future. Even joy feels fragile, on the verge of shattering from being held too tightly, too desperate not to drop a single speck of it.

Some days I move through the world like a ghost of myself, watching everyone else seem certain of where they're going while I struggle to keep my footing, of even choosing a path. The smallest wounds become life threatening. And beneath it all is the exhaustion of having to continue anyway.

Yet somehow, despite everything, I do.

And I breathe.

And the cycle starts again.

[jame7t]

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