My younger self would speak up even it scared her to death; even when her voice broke and her hands shook. She. Would. Speak. Up.
Why do we cry alone? Why don't we reach out when we're sad and then wonder why we feel lonely? Why do we deny ourselves of comfort and companion and wonder why we are never in a deep relationship with people—soul to soul?
Perhaps, that’s what changed. It is not the color, but the season. It feels nice to have a little bit of yellow again, though. I just don’t feel too bright anymore.
If we will just be a bit more gentle to ourselves and others, do you think we will all loosen up a bit? Do you think it will release all the pent up and heavy energy? Please be gentle.
She moved slowly. There was no reason to rush, anyway. Weekdays were for chasing deadlines and running after time; weekends were for taking her time.
I think it's amazing how the sky does not hide how it feels.