That I would check my messages and get back to you, but the world is crumbling! But I take my promises seriously so I waned to say hello and when my internet exists I will get back to you!
I was born me without being consulted
I will die as me without another option
I’ll never be anyone else, nor will I know what it’s like to not “be”
And I’m not sure how I should feel about that.
There are too many interesting people walking all around me, on business of their own. They seem perfectly content to just go on being interesting, but I’d wish they’d stop and chat.
I hate this idea that we can tell each other “you’re beautiful” en masse, and the recipient is supposed to feel inspired or connected. Even if we ignore the fact that you just told rapists and neo-nazis that they are beautiful, it still stands that you’ve inflated the value of being “beautiful” to the point of worthlessness. If everyone’s beautiful, it’s not even a compliment anymore.
And also, it’s just impersonal.
When it snowed heavy, she’d wear her itchiest socks - the ones who pricked at her ankles like mosquito bites and let her pretend it was summer.
You know the feeling you get when you’ve been listening to the same white noise for so long that you don’t realize it’s there anymore, and then suddenly it stops - like your only knowledge of something appears in its lack of experience?
In these moments, I like to imagine that this is the closest I can come to experiencing death, as silly as that sounds. The only way I can experience a complete lack of experience is to do it one sense at a time - it would be like seeing what you see what there’s nothing at all, or feeling a lack of texture. It doesn’t seem all that bad.
But it’s the lead up that kills me, and the idea that my loved ones don’t blink out of existence when I do. I’m afraid that dying might be the easiest part of death.