i spent most of my life trying not to disappoint people. saying yes, being useful, staying available, making myself easy to rely on. lately, i don’t care as much anymore. if someone leaves because i stopped exhausting myself to keep them comfortable, i think i can finally let them.
i don’t really know when it happened.
somewhere between growing up, trying to keep up, and being tired for longer than i realised, i went from someone who was curious about everything to someone who struggles to start anything.
the weird part is that i still want things.
i just don’t always know how to reach the version of me who used to go after them.
i think one of the scariest things is knowing that parts of my life are already disappearing.
old conversations. ordinary days. people i once knew closely.
maybe that’s why i keep photos, messages, random notes, even things that seem completely unimportant.
small proof that i was there.
that this version of me existed.
because losing a memory feels a little too much like losing a piece of myself.