It’s not easy to be yourself in a world built for others.

Hope and devastation ︎, devastation and hope. It’s 3:33 and I can’t tell if it’s night or day. Is it winter again? I am still trying to find the meaning. It reveals itself to me sometimes, but then I tend to lose it. Only fractions remain. What if the meaning isn't anything for us to find, but for us to give? 

In the fog, I think that suffering is my only true craft. I have seen it extract otherworldly beauty  from pain.

My pain. ︎

Lead me out the fog.

What if the meaning isn't anything for us to find, but for us to give?

I hear whispers of my higher self vibrating through my entire existence;

- You are the architect of your perception! 

- Create your world!

What if the meaning isn't anything for us to find, but for us to give?