there's a past of mine that i just can't let go of.
a past that, despite the twists and turns in my stomach, it remains in tact.
she's saint, and she's my best friend (outside of blood).
she reminds me that, although i may not be going on, life surely does.
despite the pulsating pain of snapping bones, i am alive.
despite the part of me that's missing, it will return.
despite it all... there will always be a couch and an angel willing to sit with me.
i will never understand how someone could handle these roads and wounds for so many years, and then i remember that she understands. she knows me better than anyone does. better than i know myself. and although that's not enough to answer these questions, it's enough.
i am still in the beginning, despite the timely calucations slapped into my face a few days ago. the mathematics are against me, but i am against my own will. had i been selfish, a war would have ensued, and i would have lost. but i wouldn't have gone down without a fight.
i am no longer myself, though, this has been established. and until that homeless child returns, i am nothing but what you want me to be, only because my voice is missing. mirrors are shattered, and years and years of bad luck have been granted.
i needed our lack of talk. thank you.
