(no subject)
i don't know what i can do.
i'm tired of trying, tired of not trying, tired of caring and not caring and pretending to care. there is a constant lingering feeling that i do not belong here, but i am far too scared to belong anywhere else.
change is a horrible thing that cannot be avoided.
it will kill me, it will kill you, it will kill your family and your dog.
we will be put into the ground with our ancestors and our ancestors' ancestors. rows of identical wooden boxes lie beneath the sand filled with the remains of the forgotten. soon you won't remember me, i'll just add to the rogue of strangers that share this world with you, and your face will be no more than another indiscernibly clouded image in my mind. this cycle will continue until we find that wooden box in which we fit so well. we'll get in reluctant at first, thinking of all the things we hadn't the chance to do. but quickly one will realize that there is nothing of substance in undone tasks.
and nothing will matter, not to me, not to you.
i'm tired of trying, tired of not trying, tired of caring and not caring and pretending to care. there is a constant lingering feeling that i do not belong here, but i am far too scared to belong anywhere else.
change is a horrible thing that cannot be avoided.
it will kill me, it will kill you, it will kill your family and your dog.
we will be put into the ground with our ancestors and our ancestors' ancestors. rows of identical wooden boxes lie beneath the sand filled with the remains of the forgotten. soon you won't remember me, i'll just add to the rogue of strangers that share this world with you, and your face will be no more than another indiscernibly clouded image in my mind. this cycle will continue until we find that wooden box in which we fit so well. we'll get in reluctant at first, thinking of all the things we hadn't the chance to do. but quickly one will realize that there is nothing of substance in undone tasks.
and nothing will matter, not to me, not to you.