(no subject)
This is the worst I’ve felt in two decades.
Despite you dying. And despite you dying, too. Shit, despite me dying twice. Despite the death of innumerable dreams. Despite the birth/lives/deaths of nightmares. Two decades worth of countless different lifetimes. (Kevin…K.C.? Just pick one. And yet I don’t. And yet I cant) 4 lives. 4 eras. 4 attempts. 4 rejections. Each one separate with their own plot points and characteristics, yet somehow connected like arteries; sometimes a slow trickle through a small rolling vein, and others more superfluously fluctuating between eras.
But no matter the names. No matter the languages. The deaths. The lives. The loves. There’s one constant. I used to have one thing on my side. It’s not anymore.
I’ve been thinking more and more about how I was seemingly “happier?” or rather more “comfortable” with chaos and turmoil. I know I don’t have it in me again to deal with the aftermath, but why does normal life just not work for me? It’s as if I just don’t know how to do it. Well, I do, I know how it works and should work, but it’s just not something that interest me. I think I’ve made too many “bad” decisions in my past that the good ones just aren’t good to me anymore. Except for cats. For some reason, with me, they multiply.
Cloud/cloud.