echoes of a thousand yes
pathological people pleaser
i’m good at swallowing what's left of myself. every corner you haven’t filled—space collapses into what you need me to be—a shape-shifter, blurred at the edges, soft as doubt. i say yes to silence, to being the soil beneath your feet, and sometimes i think i’m sinking, but even that is a comfort, isn’t it? bett…



