Breathe. Cry if you must. But whatever you do, don’t quit. This tiny moment is all you have. You can’t change the past and you can’t predict the future, but you can do whatever you want in this moment. So breathe, smile, breathe again, and take a step forward. This is the first moment of the rest of your life.

It’s ten pm and I’ve done nothing today
Except wake up at two and keep missing you.

Your voice was like home in a world without shelter. Now I toss and turn alone in my bed Fighting and failing the demons in my head. My soul or my heart, I’m not sure which, aches and my hands shake and my breathing becomes tattered like wispy clouds skittering across the sky on a spring day that can’t decide whether it’s January or June. I want to lay here in the quiet catastrophe of my broken character and mourn the loss of someone still so alive. But instead I lay in bed and become unglued inside and out.

Now I am quietly waiting for the catastrophe of my personality to seem beautiful again
And interesting
And modern.
The country is grey
And brown
And white
And trees.
Snows and skies of laughter always diminishing. Less funny not just darker not just grey.

I think the problem is that I don’t even know if I want to be healthy anymore. Nothing gives me pleasure; I don’t want to do anything. So when I find interest in starving myself and fucking and giving into the crazy… It’s the best I’ve felt in a while.