Bent, but not Broken

It's amazing how I always resort to writing every time I have so much on my mind.
It's somehow relaxing and comforting to be able to pour out everything that has been occupying me into words.
Writing makes me think of what to write.
Thinking of what to write makes me focus on thinking of what to write.
Focusing on that particular thing makes me momentarily forget just the list of things I have to do and how heavy the things I have to bear.

I ain't complaining,
I needed time.
Time to be recharged.
Time to breathe.
And maybe time to heal.

I needed space.
Space to be creative.
Space to not be occupied.
And maybe space to live.

There. I said it.
I said it.
But amidst me writing this, something just occur to me.
Maybe this IS how we live.
Humans are supposed to live being occupied.
Because that's the point of living.
To feel exhausted.
To feel pain.
Because only by feeling those emotions, will you realize.
That you are indeed alive.