There are moments when I feel something so deeply, yet it slips through my grasp the moment I try to explain it. It's like trying to catch smoke in my hands, just as I reach for it, it scatters. I know these feelings are real, I sense them in every part of me, but the more I try to name them, the more elusive they become. Like Heisenberg's electron, the act of observation shifts their very nature.
Is it fear? Is it love? Or maybe something in between, something unnamed. Each word I try to form distorts the purity of what I feel. Why is it that the more I try to understand myself, the further I stray from that understanding? I look inward, searching for clarity, but the search itself clouds the truth.
Perhaps some emotions aren't meant to be captured or explained. Maybe they are meant to exist in the quiet spaces of my mind, free from definition, as the essence of what I truly am.
By the way, I miss you so much, Berlin. I miss living you. I miss. 7 replies
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