โ€ฆ is broken.๐Ÿ’”
 
Broken in its own beautiful way.
 
How else would we torture ourselves
through endless all-nighters,
We exhaust ourselves
through conference calls and power points ๐Ÿ“Š,
through group chats and client dinners ๐Ÿฃ.
 
Work hard. Party hard
 
while slowly numbing ourselves,
while softly leaning into the fog of forgetting.
Forgetting who we once were
and what we loved.
Forgetting our precious pains
and our wild passions.
That fog of forgetfulness.
A prison we can neither see, touch nor smell.
A prison we deliberately lock ourselves in
to cloud our own judgement. ๐Ÿ”‘๐Ÿ”’
 
So that we can bear the irrelevance of our existence. ๐Ÿ’ซ
 
Maybe we work so that one day we can be a better leader than our bosses.
Maybe we work to provide for a family.
Maybe we work to experience the orgasmic power of success.
Maybe we work for a purpose. We stand up for something important.
Maybe we have forgotten why.
 
And this is how we as GOOD HEARTED INTENSITY LOVERS
are dying a thousand tiny deaths. ๐ŸŒช
 
๐Ÿ’› Our hearts are broken.
In their own beautiful ways.๐Ÿ’›