TW: suicide and all the extras.

This is temporary. It hurts, but temporary. I’ve been in a tougher situation before- and even if I don’t know how to solve it, at least I know what this is.
This is a part of me, but not who I am. I am full of life alongside of death, I love to taste food even if I starve, I am loved even if I’m lonely. 
I am suffocating, burning inside, and still am able to breathe through. I may be weak but I always practice. And even if I take a break- it’s ok. I may not believe in hope, but I do remember feeling a touch of it from others. 
This isn’t the end, nor beginning. It’s the same flow, and I am safe. I belong to myself, and that’s all the matters. Anger, jealousy, and fear is deeper than any layer of happiness I feel - and yet, feelings aren’t everything. And feelings- are in fact- temporary. Reality or experience is always up for debate, and that’s fine, because no one truly knows anything, and life is flowing, dynamically. I don’t love myself, let’s get real- but in certain spaces, I felt secured. Protected. And that? Is not temporary. That’s home.