can’t. breathe.

I feel like I’m suffocating. Honest. The pressure in my chest is quite real.

Oh how I want to be sitting somewhere, creating. Anything. I would be okay with having to fill orders of handmade stationary. I don’t care. I just need to be able to use my brain for things other than invoices and contracts.

What I wouldn’t give to have a work space like this blogger

In due time.

That’s what I tell myself.

Every.

Day.

In due time.

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One thought on “can’t. breathe.

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