Words are difficult.
I cannot produce them eloquently.
I have so much inside me that I wish I could express.
It takes great effort and time to verbalise what I’d like to say.
It takes exceptional effort and extended lengths of time to carve out what I want to write.
And yet, it never comes out right.
It isn’t up to my standards.
It isn’t adequate.
It doesn’t accurately convey what I had in mind.
But I try.
Here, at least, where it’s safer.
It’s what’s keeping my sanity.
It’s the only thing.
Out in the world, there is none that I trust.
None I’m close to.
What little interaction I have only leaves me feeling emptier.
And more alone.