(no subject)
I'm tired of feeling like this, single or not. It's old, universe. Enough. I was sick of it long before her, and after her is just cruel punishment for wrongs I can't even pin down.
Oh, I get it. Two years, four months and some arduous change. I have to serve time. I see. (Well, chalk down year one in only a couple months. Unbelievable that I still feel this way after this much time. Definitely a first.)
It's all karmic, you see. That's why I can't change it. This fate is nailed down fast. I can't change her, and I can't change me. I can change anything else but those things. Hell, I could probably manage to thrive as a coke-addled gambling addict, my luck is so screwed up. I spend money like it's water, and more flows in. I treat my "girlfriend" like shit half the time, and she loves me more for it. It's like I can't do anything wrong right now, all while my heart rots away from the inside.
I dug out some of the books Guy left when he ran off to Wisconsin or whatever. One if them is just crammed full of journals. I'm working my way through them for some kind of sign as to whether he really has the right ideas, or he's just a madman.
Sometimes I wonder why I keep so many mementos of my lifetime around my apartment. The shelves above my computer are basically a giant shrine to my memories. Gifts from others, things I've bought for myself that help me relate to the times of joy and sorrow and the long, long road that leads to where I am. It wasn't even until recently that I realised what a giant monument it'd become. I was doing it subconsciously.
Bottom front and center, now, is where I've locked her away. The gateway to her is locked inside a box and surrounded by the ritual elements that I so futilely utilised in an attempt to shake the heavens.
I imagine the gateway actually leads to a landfill somewhere outside Chicago.
She never was the sentimental sort.
She probably smashed the clock, too.
No, no. She'd keep that. It's useful to her, and doesn't demand anything on her part. Perfect for a sociopath.
Oh, I get it. Two years, four months and some arduous change. I have to serve time. I see. (Well, chalk down year one in only a couple months. Unbelievable that I still feel this way after this much time. Definitely a first.)
It's all karmic, you see. That's why I can't change it. This fate is nailed down fast. I can't change her, and I can't change me. I can change anything else but those things. Hell, I could probably manage to thrive as a coke-addled gambling addict, my luck is so screwed up. I spend money like it's water, and more flows in. I treat my "girlfriend" like shit half the time, and she loves me more for it. It's like I can't do anything wrong right now, all while my heart rots away from the inside.
I dug out some of the books Guy left when he ran off to Wisconsin or whatever. One if them is just crammed full of journals. I'm working my way through them for some kind of sign as to whether he really has the right ideas, or he's just a madman.
Sometimes I wonder why I keep so many mementos of my lifetime around my apartment. The shelves above my computer are basically a giant shrine to my memories. Gifts from others, things I've bought for myself that help me relate to the times of joy and sorrow and the long, long road that leads to where I am. It wasn't even until recently that I realised what a giant monument it'd become. I was doing it subconsciously.
Bottom front and center, now, is where I've locked her away. The gateway to her is locked inside a box and surrounded by the ritual elements that I so futilely utilised in an attempt to shake the heavens.
I imagine the gateway actually leads to a landfill somewhere outside Chicago.
She never was the sentimental sort.
She probably smashed the clock, too.
No, no. She'd keep that. It's useful to her, and doesn't demand anything on her part. Perfect for a sociopath.