My insecurity is no excuse. But excuses or not, it still exists. It is a product of human imperfection, that I by default happen to acquire.
Simple things in life complex themselves to me. Because an assumption on the surface seems shallow. And on the surface, they think I have everything. And they call me out for being ungrateful. But then again, maybe I am ungrateful. Perhaps they don't know what consequential means. That the material things I possess are results at the expense of a hidden emotional turmoil.
Nobody understands, because nobody is me.
Besides, it is not acceptance that I seek for,
But a matter of stabilizing my inner security.
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