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#undisclosed
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Hey!!! I just finished reading song of Achilles and I have been crying for the better part of the last hour while reading, hence in serious need of some Bucky comfort. So how about college or lumberjack Bucky (cuz they’re my favorites) who don’t really understand the whole fuzz over books but still holding his girl while she sobs her chest out out about a book (you can change the book of you want), hot tears down her face, ugly crying yknow?
It’s okay if you don’t want to :)) Have a great day 💕💕💕
Pairing: lumberjack!bucky x reader (can be read separately from undisclosed, but also a little reference to it)
A/n: Okay sooo this was so sweet and I had to write a drabble for it!! All this angst I've been writing needs some comfort! :)
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He hears the crying first. 
It’s a terrible sound that constricts his chest each time it meets his ears. Bucky would like to consider himself partially responsible for your tears becoming a rare occurrence, so when he hears them, he experiences an array of emotions—fear, panic, a twisted sort of heartbreak. 
At the front door of his home, Bucky strains his ears to confirm what he’s already dreading. Because maybe you weren’t crying. Maybe you were sick? That wasn’t much better, but at least it was a more concrete issue. 
When he hears the tissue box and the loud meow from Alpine—the closest thing to concern he’d ever heard from a cat—Bucky doesn’t even take his coat off before he’s barreling into your bedroom. 
You startle, puffy eyes darting up to him as he takes up space in the small room. 
And he’s devastated. You hadn’t looked like that in a long time, all tear-stained cheeks and frazzled hair. Bucky considers the multitude of reasons you could be so upset, but then decides it doesn't matter. Not when you’re looking at him like that. 
“Oh, honey,” he coos. His socks make soft sounds on the carpet as he walks over to you, but the action only sends more tears down your face. Bucky could collapse. “Sweetheart, what happened?” 
You don’t say much at first, opting to bury your face into his chest the second he makes contact with the bed. It’s too warm in here for the amount of clothes he’s wearing. Bucky doesn’t really care. You keep crying—Bucky keeps running his fingers through your hair. 
Each sob that leaves your lips sounds more broken than the last, breaking Bucky down bit by bit. He wants to fix this, make it better, but Bucky has never been good with words. He’d been trying, for you. He will try now. 
“Tell me what happened, sweet girl?” he mumbles into the skin of your temple, lips hesitant to leave your skin. He was always better with physical communication. He was also the best at loving you like this. 
Your breathing gets choppy as you try to calm down. Shallow puffs of air meet the stitching of his sweater, and he rocks you as a way to coax a more steady pattern into your lungs. Even though he was wrought with panic, you were okay. Bucky had you, so you were okay. 
“He—he died, Buck,” you eventually choke out. “He died and then there was no—there was nothing—” your words cut off again as more tears soak his chest. 
“Who?” he stresses, although his tone doesn’t give that away. “Who, honey? Someone you know?” 
“No,” you sob. The sound knocks the air from Bucky’s lungs. 
Taking inventory in his head, that means all of his friends are safe, all of your friends. It means your awful family is alive as well, and while that doesn't matter much to him, at least he knows it isn’t the source of your strife. But the pain in your voice, the way you were limp against him and fighting for air. 
Bucky couldn’t understand. 
“Tell me who. What has you so sad, hm?” he tries, voice dropping into an even gentler tone. 
You dig your fingers into Bucky’s jacket, pulling away after a moment. Bucky reaches for you, trying to chase your figure because he wasn’t done trying to make this better, he needs to make you better. But then you slap something into his lap and he’s confused again. 
“Them,” you all but sob, turning back into the material of his jacket. 
Bucky wraps an arm around your shoulders as he inspects the book on his thighs. He’s still lost, but your crying has morphed into sniffles so he asks, “What was that, sweet girl?” 
He’s packing it on with the endearments, but seeing you like this is brutal. 
“In the book,” you explain. “They were so in love. And then he died. And afterwards—Bucky it was awful.” 
Oh. 
A book. 
This is manageable, to Bucky. You’re not in pain and he can handle this. 
He hauls you closer into his chest. You shuffle until your frame is enclosed by his. Bucky’s size had always been something he found inconvenient until you came into his life. Because after that, he found it was good at making you feel safe. A way to protect you from anything. 
Even… a book? 
Surely a book. 
“Hey, it’s alright, I got you,” he hums.
“Never die,” you whisper, and Bucky's mouth twists uncomfortably. 
“I won’t.” 
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autistic-mudkip · 23 days
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watch this
me when I’m a gnome of undisclosed nature: hoohooheeheehaha
I’m so funny
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pleaseandthanksyou · 2 years
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Signs you would definitely find in Undisclosed
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jo-harrington · 2 months
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Hit a milestone today. Got myself a donut. Thanks for being along for the ride friends.
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vrag-veshtica · 10 months
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did ryan and shane predict the ted lasso finale? join me as w-
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tjandersonart · 1 year
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[one door closes and another one...] [?]
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globalcourant · 2 years
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Bed Bath & Beyond shares crater after meme stock files share offering of undisclosed amount
Bed Bath & Beyond shares crater after meme stock files share offering of undisclosed amount
Signage outside a Bed Bath & Beyond retail store in New York, Aug. 25, 2022. Gabby Jones | Bloomberg | Getty Images Bed Bath & Beyond shares dropped after the retailer turned meme stock said in a filing it would sell shares of an undisclosed amount. The shares fell 19% in premarket trading. “We may offer, issue and sell shares of our common stock from time to time,” the company said in the…
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gayleafpool · 10 months
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/anon
GASP who could this be….
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Come Home
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Pairing: Lumberjack!Bucky x Reader
Summary: Bucky goes on a lumber delivery for the first time since everything’s settled down. Your nightmares begin for first time since meeting Bucky.
Word count: 2.8k
Warnings: Nightmares, past trauma, some angst
a/n: This is a oneshot associated with my series Undisclosed, but can be read separately :) It’s based off of a request I got a while ago, but I can’t find the ask. Whoever gave me this inspo, thank you!!
Series Masterlist // Main Masterlist
~~
It was completely irrational for your nightmares to start now. Everyone that could hurt you—that had hurt you—was locked away in prison. You had made sure of that yourself just a few weeks ago, your closet still in disarray from your awful unpacking job after the last trial in New York. You watched as each and every criminal was walked out of the courtroom with years on their heads, and rationally, you knew you were safe. 
But trauma wasn’t rational. It wasn’t kind and it didn’t fit into boxes that could be opened and closed at a whim. The people that plagued your life may have been locked away, but the memories and the years of confusion were something they left behind—a cruel parting gift that you had to sort out in their wake. It was a downpour when you weren’t expecting it; a set of headlights blinding you in an otherwise calm night. 
It was Bucky going on a lumber delivery, leaving you behind for the first time since your attack. 
“Weather’s not too bad out here. Definitely warmer than Stowe, that’s for sure.” 
You huffed out a small laugh, dangling a loose string of yarn for Alpine to swat at. “Everywhere’s warmer than here.” 
“I don’t know about all that,” Bucky argued, his smile obvious even as several states separated you. “Feel pretty warm when I’m home with you.” 
“God, you’re such a flirt.” 
“Can’t help it. Got a beautiful girl sitting on my couch over a hundred miles away. Flirting’s the only way I can get her to stay there until I get back.” 
You laughed, the smile tugging on your lips tight with an invisible exhaustion. It had been about three days since Bucky left for his delivery, meaning it had been about three days since you’d actually been able to sleep. Neither of you had expected that to happen, obviously, and Bucky still had no idea; you weren’t going to bother him with something he had no control over, especially while he was working. 
“When will you be back?” you posed, trying to keep your question light. 
He let out a long breath, and you could almost see him scratching his beard as he thought. “Four days tops. Tryna get back sooner but the traffic’s awful down here. Why? You okay?” 
You cringed, knocking your head back against the couch in silent regret. “Of course I’m okay. Just miss you, as always.” 
There was a long pause on the other end of the line. You released the yarn, Alpine jumping on it as you held your breath in anticipation. 
“I miss you, sweet girl,” Bucky replied, voice dropping lower as he followed up with, “You can always tell me if something’s wrong.” 
“I know, Buck. But everything’s great, promise.” 
~~
Everything wasn’t great, but you were expecting that.
Five days since Bucky left and everything felt like a hallucination. You only got about an hour of sleep every night before you were so distressed and tangled up in the sheets that even resting was impossible. You’d wake up out of breath and shaking, Alpine brushing up against your skin the only thing grounding you to reality. The thought of closing your eyes after that always had you cringing. 
You still had to work—that was one of the main reasons you hadn’t gone with Bucky in the first place—but you were just barely ghosting through the days. Greta had thrown you quite a few side-eyes throughout the week, but with the amount of times you had messed up, you were surprised that was all she did. 
“Tried this really weird coffee this morning. You’d probably like it, sweetheart. Lots of spices,” Bucky chatted, his tone light as he relayed his day over the phone. 
You hummed. “That sounds nice, Bucky.” 
“What about you, huh? What’d you get up to today?” 
“Not much.” Your eyes drooped; you were so tired your body ached. “After the library I sorta just… walked home.”
Bucky’s car door slammed through your speaker, jolting you from your stupor. “What? It’s Friday—you didn’t go to the diner with everybody else?” 
Shit. 
You’d had a hard enough time convincing Steve to let you stay home earlier; Bucky was definitely going to think something was wrong. 
“Yeah, I just—” you perked up, the faked enthusiasm already draining “—you know, was feeling a bit tired. Greta had me pull a bunch of stuff from the archives and it was heavy.” 
The same excuse you used on Steve. The tall blonde had smothered you in a hug after giving you a skeptical look, a lot of meaning put into his arms—you don’t have to act so tough, and you can always talk to me, you know that. But he had still let your lame excuse slide this time, tossing you one last smile on his way out your door. 
Bucky wasn’t that easy. 
“You’ve sounded off the last few times I’ve called, honey. You really just tired?” 
You bit back the urge to cry, tears burning your waterline and sprouting a pain in the base of your neck. “Just tired and missing you. Happy it’s the weekend.” Happy you could hide in the house for two days and not have any eyes on you. 
“Why don’t I call Nat and Maria, yeah?” Bucky offered, the concern nearly dripping from his words. “I don’t like you being alone for so long after everything. They can stay at our place until I get back.” 
“No!” you shot out. “No, I just… I just, uh—Alpine is enough, Buck. Really. If those two come I’ll probably just be more tired. They stay up until like two in the morning.” 
A skeptical hum floated past your ears. “The guys been checking in on you?” 
“Yes.” 
“Every night?” 
“Yes, Bucky. I’m still alive, aren’t I?” 
Bucky let out a gentle sigh. “Just worry about my girl s’all. You know I get a little anxious sometimes, ‘specially about you.” 
Your heart clenched. This was the exact reason why you hadn’t told Bucky about your sleepless nights. He cared so much; he held you when you cried and touched you with such gentleness and he loved you—god, did he love you. You didn’t think it was possible to feel so cared for, and yet, Bucky outdid himself every time you were sure he couldn’t. 
You’d have to get by on the memory of him, just for the next few days. Thinking about his laugh and his hands on you; the way his body felt pressed against yours; the huffs of his breath by your ear and the sweet smile against your neck. A few days and he would be back. A few days and you could finally sleep. 
“I know, Buck,” you calmed, slumping into the couch. “But I’m safe here. I’m fine. I’m just waiting for you to get home so I can love you.” 
“I’ll hurry back then.” 
~~
Saturday was the worst. 
You were alone in the house all morning, no job to whisk you away and keep your bleary mind fixed on some repetitive task. You tried to go through the motions of your usual calm weekend, but it was missing a large, doting shadow at your back. And it was missing quite a few hours of sleep as well. Along with your sanity. 
You broke down while you were making toast, so frustrated at the pounding in your head that refused to let up. You were miserable, tired, and, frankly, you were scared. 
Every time you closed your eyes you were plagued by the images that made their way into the little sleep you were able to catch. Some were memories, others were possibilities, but all were enough to make you jump at every little sound Bucky’s sturdy cabin made. 
You rationalized that was the reason you jumped so hard when Bucky’s call came through this morning, your phone vibrating the plate you were trying to make toast on. You took a few breaths to calm yourself, cheeks still wet from strained tears as you accepted the call. 
“Hey, Buck. You’re calling early today.” 
“Hey, sweet—what’s the matter?” he cut himself off, his words almost sending you spiraling again. 
You bit into your lip for a steadying moment, and then assured, “Nothing! How’s the drive been? You still gonna be back tomorrow?” 
“I hate that I can’t see you right now.” 
So your wobbly words and ragged breath hadn’t completely evened out then. Bucky knew you like the back of his hand, but you had hoped that his cell service was bad enough to block out the signs of your tears. Apparently not. 
“But you’ll be home tomorrow, right?” You reiterated your nonchalant question from earlier, this time with more of an edge. 
“Yeah, sweetheart, tomorrow, okay?” 
“Okay,” you breathed, staring at the white-knuckle grip you had on the countertop. “Okay, yeah. Tomorrow.” 
“Why don’t you go sit on the couch and enjoy that fire I made Sam get goin’ for you? You can dig into those cookies from Sarah and I’ll be back in no time.” 
“But you just called…” 
Bucky chuckled lowly, the sound lackluster. “Sounds like you need a nap more than my rambling. Go to sleep, sweet girl. I love you, okay?” 
And Bucky’s honeyed-words did send you into a nap, but you would have preferred his rambling. After tossing your limp toast in the trash and trading it for a cookie, you slowly drifted with Alpine on your lap. The throw blanket over the couch wrapped you in comfort and you allowed yourself to simply close your eyes. 
The dreams came quickly, and with a vengeance. 
You were in a state of partial consciousness, pushing past a deep wall of black that meant freedom from your mind. This wasn’t real… you knew you were dreaming, but there was no way to wake yourself up. You figured when Bucky was here, his warmth and steady heart were enough to keep you grounded, but he wasn’t here. He wasn’t here and you were curled up on the couch and alone. 
You felt so warm; the fire was prickling at your skin and you couldn’t see it, but it’s heat was enough that you didn’t need to. You flung out in your sleep, trashing against the blanket and letting low noises slip from your throat when you were wound too tight. There were surely tears making tracks down your cheeks, but that had been normal these past few days. 
But then something abnormal happened. Your face was held by something, encased in a gentle warmth and offered soft touches. It yanked on a thread within you, urging you to kick down the wall keeping you trapped in your mind. You struggled against it, and slowly, the sounds and smells of the living room trickled through your senses. 
“Y/n. C’mon, sweetheart, you’re dreamin’. Wake up, honey,” Bucky’s voice stressed. The words echoed in your dream—made bad feelings fade and the panic dissipate. 
You scrunched your face up as the grogginess faded, eyes cracking open to finally catch the worry etched deep on Bucky’s brow. He brought his neck forward to follow your gaze as his hands stayed pressed to your cheeks. It felt surreal to have him here after so many nights waking up to this alone. 
“You okay?” he breathed, eyes frantically searching your own. 
You felt peace in the pad of his thumb against your cheek. 
You choked on the heat of the living room. 
“Y/n,” Bucky fought for your attention, adjusting his knees on the wood floor. “Look at me, you okay?” 
“Bad dream,” you finally sputtered out, reaching up to run a hand down your face and grip Bucky’s wrist along the way. “I’m fine, just a bad dream.” 
“Just? You look like you’ve been through the wringer, sweetheart.” 
You squeezed your eyes shut, shook your head a few times and tried to get back to reality. “You’re back?” you croaked. 
Bucky sighed. It sounded strained. 
He let his fingers fall from your face and stood. The polyester on his coat shifted, and it was then that you took in the rest of him. Boots, jacket, gloves; Bucky hadn’t removed a single article of clothing before he woke you up, and as he sat down on the couch beside you, he didn’t appear to be taking them off anytime soon. 
He wrapped his arm around you instead, ushering your legs onto his lap and tugging the tangled blanket from your limbs. 
“I wanted to surprise you,” he spoke, low words whispering against your temple. “But I kinda figured something was wrong last time I called, so I broke a few traffic laws to get here faster.” 
“You didn’t have to do that, I’m okay,” you assured, fiddling with the button on his sleeve, the corduroy encasing cold metal and the skin where his wrist lay exposed.
Bucky pulled you back as he reclined on the couch. The fire had died down a bit, but it still popped in the brief silence. “How many times have I told you not to lie about this kind of thing?” 
“I’m not lying, Buck. I’m fine, aren’t I? I’m safe here.” 
“You’ve always been safe here. Doesn’t mean you’re fine.” 
Bucky was always rational, but never in a cold, demeaning way. He always spoke truths in soft tones. Always broke down the facts with soft touches and tender lips and never in an attempt to make you feel guilty. You figured it was something he learned from his Ma, maybe just something he was born with. 
And he was doing that now, his hand running a steady path over the back of your head as he let you process and formulate. 
“I guess, when you were gone—” you began, feeling brave with his lips against your skin. “I had more time to think. At night… all the time. It made it hard to sleep, like, at all.” 
Bucky hummed, but didn’t speak; he simply held you closer, made your chest ache at the feel of him after the absence of so many days. 
So you continued, “I didn’t want to bother you while you were on the road, because I’m fine, really. You aren’t to blame for my messed up sleep schedule.” 
“But I would’ve wanted to help,” Bucky interrupted, his brows furrowed to a point. “I coulda stayed on the phone at night if I knew it was tough for you.” 
You ran your finger down the ridges of his coat zipper. The sound of his voice made your eyes feel heavy. 
“You’re helping now. Being here.” Bucky adjusted his hold on you, and a small gust of air left your chest when you felt yourself rising in his arms . “What are you doing?” 
He grunted, kicking the bedroom door open with his boot. “Helping.” 
“You haven’t even gotten the chance to get changed. Buck, you just got home. Take a second to—” 
Your words were cut off when he tossed you onto the bed, the sound of his boots hitting the ground echoing against wooden walls and carefully hung picture frames. He shucked his gloves off and let his jacket fall into a heap by the nightstand and then he was tugging the blankets back, sliding into bed in the place that was cold. 
“No more talking,” he shushed, pulling you against him and settling his chin on the top of your head. “Unless you need to, then I’m all ears.” 
“But you—” “Nope. I’m laying here all night. No complaining.” 
You sighed, knocking your head against his chest as he held you closer. He rubbed his hand down your spine and kept the other one still, letting it rise and fall with each of your breaths. He did that often. You never called him out on it. 
“I’m sorry, Bucky,” you whispered after a while, when the silence had created another blanket on the bed and you felt vulnerable to the rhythm of his breath. 
But he just said, “I love you.” And he said, “Don’t be sorry.” And he finished off with, “I’d do a lot more for you… a lot more for a lot longer.” 
And the kiss he pressed to your head sent you drifting. 
Bucky stopped going on deliveries for a while after that. 
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babycloned · 2 years
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Dragon fruit Fanta gotta smack when u taste it
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pleaseandthanksyou · 1 year
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In honor of the new book, some more signs you would probably find in Undisclosed~
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andredias95 · 5 days
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864. Great Wall Classic Edition Spectacular No.3
Gifted by Great Wall Cigars.Location: This review was made indoors in a cigar lounge.Information:Wrapper: Undisclosed Binder: Undisclosed Filler: Undisclosed Origin: ChinaFactory: Great Wall Cigars (China)Box: Sold in 10 count boxes. Release: 2017Availability: Regular Production Size: 5×50, Robusto.Wrapper: Milk chocolate brown, silky smooth texture with tiny veins.Construction: Firm and even…
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teauchiha · 1 month
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You Will Never Get The Invite📍
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relationaltherapist · 2 months
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DSM-5-TR Panel Members Received $14M in Undisclosed Industry Funding
Kelli Whitlock Burton, January 10, 2024
About 60% of US physicians who served as panel and task force members for the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders, Fifth Edition, Text Revision (DSM-5-TR) received more than $14 million in publicly undisclosed industry funding, a new study shows.
Most payments were for food and beverages, travel, and consulting fees. But more than one third of contributors received compensation for services other than consulting, such as serving on a pharmaceutical company's speakers bureau, which medical ethicists say is particularly problematic.
Often referred to as the bible of psychiatric disorders, the DSM-5-TR was released in 2022 by the American Psychiatric Association (APA) and includes changes that were made online since the DSM-5 was first published in 2013.
…However, having industry funding did not preclude contributors' participation, and investigators note that none of the disclosures were published in the manual or shared publicly.
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xtremeservers · 2 months
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Boutique video game publisher Annapurna ... https://www.xtremeservers.com/blog/cocoon-publisher-annapurna-buys-south-africas-largest-game-company-24-bit-games/?feed_id=116769&_unique_id=65aab3fad18f0&Cocoon%20Publisher%20Annapurna%20Buys%20South%20Africa%E2%80%99s%20%E2%80%98Largest%E2%80%99%20Game%20Company%2C%2024%20Bit%20Games
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holytpshts · 7 months
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A Beachside Epiphany
When I think, 'Take me back to a simpler time,' my mind immediately transports me to the beach. There's always something about the sound of waves crashing, the wind in my hair, and the sensation of sand everywhere that somehow validates my existence.
Just witnessing the sun slowly set and paint the horizon with a burning orange allows me to breathe in deeply and offer myself a silent congratulations for living to see another day. The beach has always served as my escape. Even though I can't swim, there's always that looming feeling that my thoughts will gradually consume and drown me. I can't shake the persistent fear, asking myself, 'What if I were to drown for real?'
Yet, whenever I take a few steps closer to the sea, immerse myself in it, and let the waves dictate my direction, I come to realize, 'Maybe this is just how life unfolds? Maybe I should simply allow the waves to guide me to where I need to be, to let go and flow with it?' In those fleeting milliseconds, I also ponder the vastness of the sea, the fact that the Earth is predominantly water, yet we've scarcely explored or truly comprehended what lies beneath the surface. Then, another realization emerges, once again connecting to my somewhat ordinary existence.
Perhaps the abyss is a metaphor for the future… maybe, we're perpetually fearful of not knowing where to go yet simultaneously resistant to going with the flow? That's probably why individuals like me, possessing Type A personalities, can never fully relinquish control because there's an indescribable satisfaction in being in command, a feeling that says, 'FUCK YOU UNIVERSE!'
But, in retrospect, acknowledging my own fears, weaknesses, and imperfections is one of the grounding aspects of my life. It reminds me of my humanity – part of which is experiencing fear. We may always be fleeing from something, perpetually seeking an escape. Yet, once we regain our composure, somehow, it equips us (or perhaps just me) to once again confront whatever it is we're evading.
In that boundless ocean, I eternally find solace, and I yearn to be transported back to that simpler time when I sat upon the sandy shore, feeling the wind caress my face, watching the sun imbue the horizon with shades of orange.
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