A fleeting moment in time divided by a gossamer screen of perilous thoughts. Soul-crushing, fire-producing, threatening reflections. This is the juncture that begs for you to shine radiantly. You have outwitted yourself and it is a dangerous debacle. Heart strings play deceiving chords and you’re not sure who is singing to the piercing tune. Industrious, the adjective that describes your given name. The universe is deduced to a mathematical equation and your numbers never seem to subtract suitably. Silence solicits your attention, temptation pleads with every minute of torment.
I am proud of you. You’re searching for it, fine-tooth combing the last ten years of stored files. You are positive it’s true, but you can’t find it anywhere, and it’s dissolving your courage.
You need to hear I love you. You need to hear I’m proud of you. You need for these things to occur without asking for them and are keenly aware that it won’t come from the place you need it from the most.