Honestly, I have no clue what I'm doing or what to say. Right now I feel as though I'm just coasting, doing what I'm supposed to, pretending like I can move on from this when I don't really think I can.
He's gone, and I'm shattered. I miss him and need him to tell me how I'm going to survive this without him. Survival. That's what it feels like right now. I'm doing what I have to do so I can survive.
Breathing. Sleeping. Water. Food.
Those are vital, everything else is everything else.
53 days. How many more?
Why do we do this to ourselves? Implant someone into our lives that when they die it's unbearable. Sadists? It's torture. A slow, ongoing, festering type that makes you want to crawl inside a hollow shell and never return. But you do.
Breathing. Sleeping. Water. Food.
Death is everything and it's nothing. The emotions that ravage you are all consuming and that makes you numb. Death makes you desperate. Empty.
Death can turn simple thoughts into a pain you'd never imagine, until you're caught in it's trap. Weaving in and out of you, every inch of your body. Death is poison. And it never stops. It will seep into my body every day until I stop breathing. I'm sleeping forever. And I no longer need water and food.
Death and I will become best friends, it's learning everything about me, why shouldn't I get to know it?
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