(no subject)
Shit.
I am going to live to be sixty.
Fuck.
I am going to die alone.
These are the things you realize at four in the morning. These are the things that follow you to sleep at night, chase you through your dreams and stand in the background all morning. These are the nightmares you have and the times you pop forty pills and dream about buying a gun and driving to the middle of nowhere and never coming back. It all seems so easy, if only we could get over the fear.
God, it's a beautiful night to be alive.
"No, really. No. I can't. And you need to leave. Right now. Because I'm going to bed."
"No. No, really. No, I can't. No, I really can't."
"Yes. Go. Leave."
No, no you fucker, I can't go right now. I cannot stand on my own. I can't do this right now. I can't walk to my house. I can't make it. I'm so fucked up, please, please do not make me be alone tonight. Not now. Not after that. Not tonight. I hate being so scared of myself, I hate it, oh please, I really don't want to do this again.
"OK. OK, kid, OK. Just look me in the eyes again and say it: tell me you don't care. Tell me you don't care, and then tell me exactly why. I need to hear it. Again. Once more. Please."
"No, Cara, no. You're being annoying. Whatever. You're drunk and you're annoying me and I'm tired. Go to bed."
And that's all. And that's the end again. And I've done it again. And I don't care how beautiful it is tonight, don't care how many infinite things have gone right tonight, don't care how the moon lends its pale glow through the blanket of clouds, don't care about the infinite possiblitites and finite time, I don't care. I'm tired. I'm tired and I'm going nowhere, and I'm going there very fast and I'm going there very, very, very much alone.
I am going to live to be sixty.
Fuck.
I am going to die alone.
These are the things you realize at four in the morning. These are the things that follow you to sleep at night, chase you through your dreams and stand in the background all morning. These are the nightmares you have and the times you pop forty pills and dream about buying a gun and driving to the middle of nowhere and never coming back. It all seems so easy, if only we could get over the fear.
God, it's a beautiful night to be alive.
"No, really. No. I can't. And you need to leave. Right now. Because I'm going to bed."
"No. No, really. No, I can't. No, I really can't."
"Yes. Go. Leave."
No, no you fucker, I can't go right now. I cannot stand on my own. I can't do this right now. I can't walk to my house. I can't make it. I'm so fucked up, please, please do not make me be alone tonight. Not now. Not after that. Not tonight. I hate being so scared of myself, I hate it, oh please, I really don't want to do this again.
"OK. OK, kid, OK. Just look me in the eyes again and say it: tell me you don't care. Tell me you don't care, and then tell me exactly why. I need to hear it. Again. Once more. Please."
"No, Cara, no. You're being annoying. Whatever. You're drunk and you're annoying me and I'm tired. Go to bed."
And that's all. And that's the end again. And I've done it again. And I don't care how beautiful it is tonight, don't care how many infinite things have gone right tonight, don't care how the moon lends its pale glow through the blanket of clouds, don't care about the infinite possiblitites and finite time, I don't care. I'm tired. I'm tired and I'm going nowhere, and I'm going there very fast and I'm going there very, very, very much alone.