This living stuff is a lot. Too much, and not enough. Half empty, and half full.
So I retrace our every step with an unsure pen, trying to figure out what my head thinks, but my head just ain’t what it used to be.
Crying myself to sleep. Haven’t done that in a while. Great way to start off my week. Why is everything so hard? Why am I so uncomfortable with change? Why can’t i handle the unknown possibilities of the future?