Picturesque Perfect
There are little moments, just tiny ones, stuck in hundredths of a second while you're picking at your eggs or staring at a happy couple in the corner engaged in active open conversation, and you realize in those shattered fragments of moments that this hollow feeling inside is about as good as its going to get for you. There's no silver lining to the thought. No ideas that another route will change said destination, albeit the terrain may look different. Its almost like the end of days and you look out the window and you can see a thousand other days in the future marred by this same gut-wrenching hopelessness that you will never be happy, that you can't be happy unless you burn this entire life to the ground. Start from scratch. Whip something together. Breathe a personality into it. Live. Cry. Smile. Die. Repeat. Its a choice. At the end, I am always thankful for a choice.