breaking
Today I am a fly. I'm looking through a glass window. I am trying to break through. Again. And again. And again. And again. My head is split open, blood flowing and covering my eyes. Do flies have blood? I think not, but I am a special fly. My wings are red, taste of salt and metal on my lips. I fly into the glass window one more time, and my scull cracks from the impact. I hear the sound and say hey, the glass is finally giving in, and this time I will certainly make it. Just need to fly a little bit quicker, and hit a little bit harder. Tomorrow I will die. Tomorrow I will be 19 again, thinking about what I want to do with my life, looking out of an open window at stars and broken streetlights, winter air choking and paralyzing, tears freezing on my face. Tomorrow I will be deciding between unhappness and uncertainty. But this time I will know that uncertainty can also mean unhappiness. Yet I will make the same choice.
I'm stuck in this timeline. Might as well make the best of it. Tomorrow is the day after the day when I had almost broken down. Tomorrow I will be all right.
I'm stuck in this timeline. Might as well make the best of it. Tomorrow is the day after the day when I had almost broken down. Tomorrow I will be all right.