Strong

It’s hard to be strong. Who do you talk to when the sun goes down? Who do you talk to when people are still awake? Maybe if I stay busy, I’ll forget to worry. Maybe if I stay busy, I won’t remember that I’m not working toward any ends. If i work hard enough and long enough, I might die before I have a moment to think. That’s the dream.

If I were well-rested, maybe I could face the day. If I went to bed early enough, maybe the state of the world and my disintegrating and disintegrated relationships would never come to mind. Memories of my mistakes, big and small, might never rear their ugly heads.

How long can one ignore that the world is full of killers and sadists? How long can one ignore impending doom? If I had a child, how would I explain to them that the world will break their heart every hour of every day that they are alive if they let it and protecting their heart from the world will exhaust them and drive them mad? I don’t have a child though - because the world would destroy them if I did and I can’t abide by that.

It’s hard being brave. Most days I’m not. I hope that’s okay though I know it’s not.