I have to be all of these different people. Every day is just a shuffling of the old cracking masks. Is that why, then, that the times I’m truly alone—even if just for an evening—I see for one clear moment that I’m not okay?
I have to be all of these different people. Every day is just a shuffling of the old cracking masks. Is that why, then, that the times I’m truly alone—even if just for an evening—I see for one clear moment that I’m not okay?