24 hours later i'm just bones no marrow
he's gone. part of him is gone forever. you can't tie your shoes without your hands. there's a pull, and an anchoring, and a longing. mostly just an empty hole. it feels like everything you buy is made to be thrown away and replaced. shoddy goods. a new shell, restored memory, customer satisfaction. there are things i have to do and things i have to feel. there's always this feeling like living is scripted. maybe it's translated from native to foreign, accented in the wrong places because that's how it sounds in english. this is how my reaction sounds in english, accented in all the wrong places when filtered through third person perspective, through censors, through sympathy. whose pain is this?