i think i don’t believe it’s possible that someone else can know
everything about me, about why i did something
the way i did but i want that person to know me.
how much of this life is just trying to be understood by the outside world?
no-one feels what i feel with the memories that i have but
you can come close if you listen(?)
‘IF I KNEW WHAT TO SAY’
do you think people who spend time with your family realise why you
are the way you are?
i don’t know if i have the vocabulary or the energy to voice how
i’m feeling but i wish i could just pull out my stitching to show u. you’d
only be observing the seams but
i hope you’d be able to solve
if you wanted.
i don’t want to be consoled, i want to be heard.