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Tomorrow I gotta go to my therapist. What should I tell him? Maybe this week I didn't suffer enough. Though I'm here crying, in my warm bed. What is this sadness? Where does it come from? Where does it go? Where does it want to take me? And I feel the whole world on my shoulders. My boyfriend says that my shoulders are beautiful. What hurts most is knowing that they're keeping no world over them. There is just my head. So why everything feels so heavy? I keep telling myself that I should be brave. But I only feel more fear. What am I so sad about? I'm here in my warm bed crying, in my little house, in a little neighbour in Rome. This ancient city, layers over layers of violence and wonder. Despite everything, flowers and weeds grow among the ruins. They may not be beautiful, but they're brave. And maybe I am one of them, a blade of grass nobody asked for, useless and temporary. So what do I tell my therapist tomorrow? I had no panic attacks this week. I still feel half alive and half dead. Half real and half fake. So what do you want me to tell you? Everything is okay. But sometimes my shoulders hurt.