i’m not sure how to feel. this in itself is not unusual--but i’m not even sure how to command myself to feel, what feeling to speak into existence. should i be mad? should i be mad?
i’m not sure what to do with her. i am not sure. this in itself is not unusual, because the only emotion i’ve had stronger than my hatred for her is that time i loved her. and now there is to be peace. i guess. god, you know, like--unburden yourself already. there’ll be no peace until you do. until she does, i mean. until you do.
i’m not sure how important the past is. maybe there is just the present, because reality is not comprised of patterns, necessarily--there is no promise of repetition. so the past is the past and the now is now and now is everything and tomorrow is blazing and bright and unknowable. and you like this. you love it! i think i am going to sabotage my whole life. i think i am going to ruin everything.
there is a sleeping boy in this bed. his face is vulnerable when he sleeps. and i wonder what’s lurking at his core. vulnerability, i’m going to stress, is not softness, although it’s so raw it sometimes feels like it. vulnerability, i’m going to vow, is not for me. he is probably dreaming. he is probably dreaming.
there is this: me at the center of the universe. the core of the milky way, the center into which--from which???--its tendrils meander, is made of hurt. so this hurt little creature manages to hurt everyone she loves (and hates) and still feels like the victim. you hurt me first, you know? the great fallacy of i was hurt first.
there are a couple things you can’t escape from, and they are as follows: your dad is going to die, you are going to become your mom, and you have to live with yourself for the rest of your life. you have to find a way to stand yourself. forever. god. i hope we get reborn so i can catch a fucking break. i hope my dad gets reborn and this time around the world is so gentle. although this is probably the second greatest fallacy of all, and even when you’re born with a silver spoon in your mouth there are thorns. you have to plant them yourself but--you know. they’re there.