este género maldecido
I'm tired. I'm always tired. I feel like a heroin addict. My left arm hurts. My veins feel bruised. If reincarnation is true, perhaps in some distant life I was. It could be fluid retention. I don't get enough protein. Why do I care? I'm trying to come to terms with hunger, to know what it feels like, to never know what it feels like. It's much harder to rewire my brain than I thought. Rethinking is hard work. No, you are not hungry. Food is not important. Who am I kidding? I'm always tired. Maybe this is what being healthy is. Maybe I never really was. I squeeze the sun out of every minute of the day until the dark no longer feels like fighting. If it doesn't end it can never begin. I should remind myself of this more often.
I miss him. Cursed feminity. We are all the same. We are all Eve's to someone else's Adam. I miss his laugh.
I'm just tired, that's all. The days go so fast. And all I want is that laugh.
Discovering new music is great. Having someone to share it with is even better.
August was not kind to me this year. It's up to me to change this. It's just taking longer than I'd like. I need to find that passion again. I need to find what makes me come alive again (aside from him, other than him). I need trees. I need stars. I need the sound of water over rock. I want to dance in my barefeet in the grass to the sound of drums and harmonica. Can I accept that the answers aren't there? That they never were and that's the whole point? Maybe by asking the questions I've already found the answers. Maybe we've had the idea all wrong. Maybe we start with the answers in hopes of forming the right questions. I am well on my way to understanding...
