so maybe this is me caving in. come back. if you read this at all, come back. I can't stand it anymore.
I try to remember how good it had been. I try to reach back in the far corners of my former self to collect moments that meant something - anything at all to tide me over this unbelievably deep rut that I am so mercilessly dumped in. I try to remember what warmth there was, but every memory is so distant, remembering succeeds only in more stinging tears. I hate crying. There really is no point to all the water-works. It never solves anything and it only makes me feel uglier with all the puffy slits that pretend to be eyes and the blotchy nose.
Right now, I like having my face licked and caressing the soft almond colored curly fur. I like the furry warmth in my bed next to me and tiny paws on my chest trying to wake me up. It is my most welcome distraction from this sorry excuse of a life. but wouldn't you know it, it's like I'm seven again and all alone with a dozen shadows to talk to.
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