life was a slow realization that the world was not for her,
and that for whatever reason, she would never be happy and
honest at the same time. She felt as if she were brimming,
always producing and hoarding more love inside her. But
there was no release. she addressed her world honestly,
searching for something deserving of the volumes of love
she knew she had within her, but to each she would have to say,
I don’t love you… nothing felt like anything more than it
actually was. everything was just a thing, mired completely in its thingness.