Don’t cry because it’s over — smile because you farted.
I don’t like to sleep. It reminds me I’m only human. I hate being awake. It reminds me I can’t fly.
It was in that moment he realized - her tears weren’t the falls of a weak and broken dam, not that of a gentle, helpless woman. No. They were the furious overflow of a mind brought to boiling - that of a tired woman, gone mad.
I’m small. I disappeared into the wall of my brothers. You used me. ‘A distraction,’ you said. You pushed me. You pushed again. And now I am an individual. I stand a survivor amongst the dead. I once stood still - a sacrifice on the front lines. And now I live in motion - a killer out for the throne.
You’ve opened it so many times, it has decided it’s safer to stay closed.
You’ve broken and mended it beyond recognition, and the scars have hardened - choking its voice weak and muted.
You gave it away. And it is with this action you lost it - and with it…your mind.
How much for the squirrel?
This was never supposed to be a book. This was never supposed to be that. It was just a place - an activity to let me scream on a page - reflect on life - remember. One person tells you they ‘relate’ to your stories - ten more say the drama is narrative gold. The other fifty simply don’t believe a fucking word.
My friends and family all hate me - all hate me for putting them down on paper - for being more real and honest in writing than I had ever been in person.
This damn book. It was never supposed to be a book - all I wanted to do was remember.
Am I angry? No see, I’ll tell you how I see that day - I lost a limb…and gained a friend.
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