Flight.
I’m exhausted, stressed.
Face your fears.
No, I’ll do that another time.
Weakling.
I honestly don’t mind.
I’m tired.
How many fights do I need to win or lose as a tired human? To be finally free? Or is this what living is?
This is what living is.
Breathe.
Is freedom even real?
It depends on what your definition of “freedom” is.
Nonsense.
Really.
