You talk about things ‘til it becomes overrated. You discuss things with yourself and darn, all ends up in an argument. Trying to clear things up, trying to reason, trying to defend only to end up ever blurry. Or worse, you end up blank.
You’ve wanted to break down. You’ve anticipated breaking down. Then the same thing disappoints you. Anxiety got its way again, only better. Something like sad that it isn’t sad, that kind of better.
If you may call that better.
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