𝒊 𝒘𝒓𝒊𝒕𝒆 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒎𝒚 𝒍𝒆𝒇𝒕 𝒉𝒂𝒏𝒅.

𝒎𝒚 𝒉𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒎𝒐𝒗𝒆𝒔,
𝒍𝒆𝒇𝒕 𝒕𝒐 𝒓𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕,
𝒐𝒗𝒆𝒓 𝒂 𝒃𝒍𝒂𝒏𝒌 𝒑𝒊𝒆𝒄𝒆 𝒐𝒇 𝒑𝒂𝒑𝒆𝒓,
𝒔𝒎𝒖𝒅𝒈𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒘𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒊 𝒘𝒓𝒊𝒕𝒆.

𝒂𝒔 𝒎𝒚 𝒔𝒍𝒆𝒆𝒗𝒆
𝒂𝒃𝒔𝒐𝒓𝒃𝒔 𝒎𝒚 𝒑𝒆𝒏𝒔 𝒓𝒆𝒅 𝒊𝒏𝒌,
𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒆𝒅𝒈𝒆 𝒐𝒇 𝒎𝒚 𝒘𝒉𝒊𝒕𝒆 𝒔𝒘𝒆𝒂𝒕𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒓𝒕
𝒕𝒖𝒓𝒏𝒔 𝒂 𝒔𝒉𝒂𝒅𝒆 𝒐𝒇 𝒍𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕 𝒑𝒊𝒏𝒌.

"𝒋𝒖𝒔𝒕 𝒓𝒐𝒍𝒍 𝒖𝒑 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒔𝒍𝒆𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒔."
𝒊 𝒄𝒂𝒏'𝒕, 𝒏𝒐𝒕 𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒏 𝒂 𝒍𝒊𝒕𝒕𝒍𝒆 𝒃𝒊𝒕.
𝒊𝒕 𝒎𝒂𝒚 𝒏𝒐𝒕 𝒔𝒆𝒆𝒎 𝒍𝒊𝒌𝒆 𝒂 𝒃𝒊𝒈 𝒅𝒆𝒂𝒍 𝒕𝒐 𝒚𝒐𝒖,
𝒃𝒖𝒕 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕'𝒔 𝒘𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒊 𝒉𝒊𝒅𝒆 𝒎𝒚 𝒔𝒆𝒄𝒓𝒆𝒕𝒔.

𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒎𝒂𝒚 𝒃𝒆 𝒐𝒌𝒂𝒚 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒔𝒉𝒂𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓𝒔,
𝒃𝒖𝒕 𝒊 𝒕𝒓𝒚 𝒕𝒐 𝒇𝒐𝒓𝒈𝒆𝒕 𝒎𝒊𝒏𝒆 𝒆𝒙𝒊𝒔𝒕.
𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒘𝒓𝒊𝒕𝒆 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒔𝒆𝒄𝒓𝒆𝒕𝒔 𝒊𝒏 𝒂 𝒅𝒊𝒂𝒓𝒚,
𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒊 𝒘𝒓𝒊𝒕𝒆 𝒎𝒊𝒏𝒆 𝒐𝒏 𝒎𝒚 𝒘𝒓𝒊𝒔𝒕.

- inside.thoughts