Men fall from the sky and gods hurl thunderbolts. Innocents die. That’s how it starts. The fever, the rage, the feeling of powerlessness that turns good men… cruel.
Sometimes I think I have felt everything I’m ever gonna feel. And from here on out, I’m not gonna feel anything new. Just lesser versions of what I’ve already felt.
If my best friend keeps his farts from me, what else is he hiding from me? And why does that thought make me feel so alone?
I feel so tempted. I feel so tempted to despair. I’m afraid. The weight of your silence is terrible. I pray, but I’m lost. Or am I just praying to nothing? Nothing. Because you are not there.