For years now, I’ve been hiding beneath prose based on ambiguity, non-specific on purpose because they blunt the sharpness of honesty. Ironically, yet naturally, by not being completely honest with myself, words are stoppered. I’ve gone through phases of reasoning : fear of vulnerability, narcissism within expression, resistance against existence.
And here is the bare naked truth: I am still struggling. Struggling with the simplest of everyday behaviour, struggling with morals and truths, struggling with loving oneself.