from Diya, with love

Sometimes I wonder how many nights I've spent philosophizing about all I've ever been and all the beauty I could embody. How many nights the stars would watch over me without ever being able to hear my thoughts. How many nights all my insecurities, all my inhibitions, all my memories would come to visit and stay till the late hours of the morning. How many nights my thoughts would harmonize with music I listened to, thinking of how great things could be. I think of how many nights were bad and how many were good. The number is starting to approach infinity.

Something’s stopping me from living fully. A people pleaser but I don’t know who I’m pleasing, I worry about half-formed opinions from people who don’t really care. I want everyone to like me, even if they don’t really like themselves;  there’s an irony to worrying so much about what people think of me  when I know that they barely do.