There’s a bus.
Pulling up, pulling away.
Something very different in the world, you know. Something very hard to look at. Things, being what they are, I guess.
I make no sense.
I am purposefully vague.
I wanted so hard to write, and now I don’t know what to say. Here I am, I guess. Here it is. This is the world of these five words. Terrible. Actually.
In a few months I’ll be in cold, in alone. Step forward? I just know I need to do this. I know it with every ounce of lacking certainty I possess. Nothing is really that vital. Nothing is really real. So, the pain of it will be easy to endure. It doesn’t exist.
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