Moroze
Defect
- Aug 9, 2023
- 158
The painful truth I've come to believe deep down: I am replaceable. No matter how much I give, no matter how much I try to hold onto people or moments, I am just a temporary fixture, easily swapped out for someone "better", someone who doesn't break so easily or demand so much. It feels like I'm nothing more than a placeholder, a shadow fading the moment someone else shows up.
This feeling settles in my chest and won't leave. It whispers that I'm not worth fighting for, that I'm a burden, that my instability makes me disposable. And when those whispers echo in my head long enough, they start to sound like the truth. I watch as people move on, as their attention shifts, as I become the forgotten option, the person who was there but doesn't matter anymore.
This feeling settles in my chest and won't leave. It whispers that I'm not worth fighting for, that I'm a burden, that my instability makes me disposable. And when those whispers echo in my head long enough, they start to sound like the truth. I watch as people move on, as their attention shifts, as I become the forgotten option, the person who was there but doesn't matter anymore.
