…but it isn’t.
It feels off…
It feels uneasy…
…as if something bad is about to happen.
I do not mean to explain what anxiety fears.
I do not mean to understand how regret concerns.
Earlier I lost track of time looking at the void while I pressed my index fingernail hard against the cuticle on my thumb until it left a deep indentation. It bled a little. It hurt, but not as much as it hurts inside.
Gaslight your therapist, I say.
…and I keep smiling.
