She physically empties a container labelled 'heart'
In the fortified walls of her mind;
She keeps the light dim, just enough for her to see
She keeps her thoughts organized in boxes and labelled
She finds comfort in the detachment of those boxes
In a world so noisy and busy
In a world 'connected' by intangible lines
She finds it all too much;
The fake hellos drowns her
The self centered decisions stabs
The need to be relevant pinched her gut
The need to be loved puzzles her
It is tiring living in a world where everyone is talking and you are the only one listening. It makes one wonder- do they even care about what they are saying? Do they even care who they are talking too? or were they too busy wishing that they were somewhere else as I do?