Dear heart. Stop it. Our don't. Remind me. I am alive. This is what it is to be alive. Pain. And ache. And guilt. And sorrow. Every beat. Like breathing is a conscious thing and if I don't think about it, I can't.
I miss. And miss. And miss. And miss.
Can't seem to stay in this moment.
This week won't be like last week. I won't be able to write as much as I want. Or sleep as much as I want. Or move as much as I want.
All I can do is make it through today. And what a good thing to measure time in days. Actions. A list to check off and once it's all checked off, I can go. Disappear. Hide. Fade. Die. Make a list. Check it off. Die.
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