I’ve spent so many nights alone in the dark, just me and my pen, trying to sketch something that finally feels complete, but something’s always missing.
I show up every day anyway I keep creating, pouring effort and real emotion into every piece, yet the doubt still eats away at the best parts of me. Part of me just wants to keep going to figure out what’s wrong, to find whatever I’m chasing. But real life keeps interrupting, I get up, go to work, come home, eat something quick, try to squeeze in time for art and social media, then crash into bed, the same thing, every day.
Friends fade away, my life doesn’t fit their schedules anymore, or they just scroll right past. And in the quiet moments, the same question keeps surfacing: is it too much to ask for someone to just love me through this?
