There’s only so much I can contain. I believe every introvert feels the need to come out of the cocoon, much like every extrovert want’s to eventually recluse.
Our souls don’t differ much. Despite what the world wants to keep feeding us, wish-washing our natures apart from each other, convincing the masses we are all separate from each other, that we’re such unique individuals.
We’re all sinew and love, all marrow and anger. We’re eyes, skin, sense and breath, and we all need peace and chaos to remind ourselves of our extremes, to remind ourselves the middle path is always more beautiful.
I’ve been quietly building myself up, and men my age are telling me, enough is enough, to let go.
I’m trying so hard to shed this shell, and my skin is aching to dance with this raging sun.