this is the part where i usually ask "what's wrong with me?”

Aug 23

I can feel his disinterest like a cotton ball lodged in my throat. Loud. Crazy. Intense. Controlling. I’ve been called it all.

This is the part where I usually ask, “what’s wrong with me?”

But not this time. The answer is nothing.

I won’t bleed for affection. I won’t cheapen myself to beg for worthiness. The real question is: why does my intensity threaten you?

Harper Sims

current state of the union: rest as discipline edition.