My best friend told me that sometimes, she hears darkness calling her name. That this life doesn’t make any sense for some time now. What I thought of immediately was a poem I had read some time ago. “
“ It’s hard, not wanting to die. Dying is not the same as going home“.
going home is falling into comfort and certainty
it’s sleep and music, the things I love most in this world
because they make me feel alive
because they make feel like I can breathe again
so I’m losing myself as I slowly find myself again