I don’t know if it’s exhaustion, frustration, or just the weight of too many unspoken thoughts, but today, I am grouchy. Not in the playful, harmless way where a little teasing or a nap could fix it, but in the way that makes everything feel heavier than it should.
It’s the kind of grouchy that stems from disappointment—from things that don’t happen the way they were supposed to, from people who say one thing and do another, from expectations I foolishly held onto, thinking maybe, just maybe, this time would be different. It’s the exhaustion of caring too much, of overthinking, of trying to navigate emotions that feel like shifting sand beneath my feet.
I am tired. Not physically, not in the way that sleep could fix, but in the way that sits in your chest, in the spaces between your ribs, in the way your mind replays conversations and moments, trying to make sense of them when maybe there’s no sense to be found.
I don’t want to talk. But at the same time, I do. I want to say everything I feel, spill it all out like ink across a blank page—but what’s the point? Some words, some feelings, some frustrations are meant to stay bottled up, because once spoken, they lose their meaning. Or worse, they land on ears that don’t really hear them.
I know this mood will pass. They always do. But right now, in this moment, in this breath, I am grouchy. And I don’t need fixing, I don’t need cheering up—I just need to be.
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