Everything Feels Like the End of The World

Everything you do is triggered by an emotion of either desire or fear.

You ever think you could cry so hard that there’d be nothing left in you, like how the wind shakes a tree in a storm until every part of it is run through with wind? I live in the low parts now, most days a little hazy with fever and waiting for the water to stop shivering out of the body. Funny thing about grief, its hold is so bright and determined like a flame, like something almost worth living for.

To love. To be loved. To never forget your own insignificance. To never get used to the unspeakable violence of life around you. To seek joy in the saddest places. To pursue beauty to its lair. To never simplify what is complicated or complicate what is simple. To respect strength, never power.

Above all, to watch. To try and understand. To never look away. And never, never to forget. Some wounds never vanish. Yet little by little, I learned to love my life. Like romanticizing my melancholic solitude, I could say.

I‘m so over feeling like this. Like I’m here, but I’m not. Like someone cares. But they don’t. Like I belong somewhere else, anywhere but here, and escape lies just past that snowy window, cool and crisp as the February air. I tend to leave people puzzled. I have a happy personality and a sad soul. I am bold but shy…