Sorry if I’m blabbing. (Just being polite here)
Good things happened in January.
Or… “good.”
It’s the kind of good that brings its own fine print. I’m happy now, but I don’t know what comes next. It feels like drinking from a cup that might bite later. A dream I’ll wake from and find the room politely empty again.
April, hurry. I keep telling myself this year can behave, but fear likes to draft the schedule. If I let it drive, I won’t move.
So here I am, trying to choose better, even if my hands shake on the pen.
I’m grateful for my friends and family, truly. I’m also sorry for living so secretly. I’m not good at feelings on a face. Writing helps, but mostly in a diary where pages don’t stare back. On the blog I write and erase, even though no one’s grading me. Consider this my practice at leaving the sentences up.
English is rusting (Indonesia habit). So I’ll blab until it stretches.
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