βTwas always easier said that done,
drown my soul in thoughts,
Iβll fix this and then mend that,
to find in the end Iβm still the broken one.
You can fill the room yet be the lonely one. I wish I met one real friend, even if only one.
Still trapped in thought as hope is gone.
βTwas always more idealist than realist,
to believe, more hope for a Mote of faith.
Avoidant and damaged, crass and callous, stoic yet broken,
But Iβll manage.
Maybe not thrive but manage.
Just maybe, just maybe.