When you're born in a burning house, you think the whole world is on fire. But it's not.
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When you're born in a burning house, you think the whole world is on fire. But it's not.
Josh Malihabadi, from a poem titled "After Giving Excessive Grief," featured in Humsafar: The World of Urdu Poetry
In my bid to write happy stories, I haven't written at all. Gosh, the words in my head are just not complying on paper.
Art by Nicholas Megalis
i feel depressed today
“Where have you been?” Survival mode. Trying to survive.
Es ist, als würde man jeden Morgen aufwachen und schon müde sein vom Nichts, als hätte die Welt ihre Farben verloren und selbst das Atmen ist nur noch ein leises Durchhalten.
Was bleibt, ist Einsamkeit. Nicht immer laut. Oft ganz still. Sie sitzt neben mir, wenn ich etwas erzählen will und niemand mehr da ist, der zuhört. Sie zeigt sich nachts, wenn Erinnerungen schwerer werden als der Schlaf. Und manchmal erschreckt sie mich, manchmal fühlt sie sich vertraut an.
"Every time I get hurt, I choose to become cold and distant. Then, suddenly, I revert to being kind and talkative, as if nothing had happened. That encapsulates my behavior."