30-01

Death.

An end.
An escape.
A challenge.
An answer.
A reprieve.
A celebration.
A catastrophe.



So many things to so many people. Your own death could be one of these to you, but what it will be to her, to him, to them?

What matters?

What your life is to ___?
What your life will be to ___?
What your death is to ___?

Who matters?

Him?
Her?
Them?
No one?

Death.

 

.

At our absolute and desperate neediest, to fight and try make peace with being alone. All alone.

Home

Home alone with half packed suitcases,
laying back beer in hand,
looking at flashes of the life I've lived here.

I close my eyes and it's a house full of familiar sounds, people, smells.

I open them and it's.... four walls.

Feet

He loved to play with her feet. There was perfection in their flaws.

He could spend hours playing with them, curling her toes, tickling 'em.

\/

1 or 0.

Fuck middle ground.

2015

i think it might be the year when i strive to get my own.

-

character.

let this be a lesson to you, Abhishek.

'<'

to make sure i follow that up with the number 3, for as long as i am able.

"<3 for you. and you only."

/

slash

how much this hurts, and why so much,
i do not understand, and i cannot explain,
i only feel and live it.
and die from it.
and yet dont. god does not believe in mercy, for now.

,

just need to tell someone that it hurts.
this blog is my someone.
thankfully no one is reading.

i love you. without hope or agenda. but i do.

2.1

i miss you.
i miss being able to look at you. to be able to see you smile. flick your hair back.

i miss your smell. i miss how seeing you makes my heart leap.

i miss our silence.
i miss our fighting.
i miss our lovemaking.

i miss our love.

i miss our friendship.


i wish i could see you again. not that it'll help with anything i miss.
but i just wish i could.

i'll miss you just the same.

2

Alone.
Bent over a shit-pot vomiting a mixture of bile and the remains of an empty stomach.

So alone.

1.1.15

- contemplating giving up meat and alcohol
- loving her.
- writing