The days lately have been really hard to get through. Hours drag their feet. Minutes pass into more days, into more dragging hours and at this moment I wonder what the point is. What are we living for? Any of us? To take the train to work everyday, sit at a desk, take the train home, make dinner, go to the gym, go to sleep and wake up on the train again next to homeless men in hysterics; laughing at no one and nothing; the fucking crazy lot of us. Isn’t it funny? The world is just so damn hilarious.

My secret is no longer a secret because it is no longer anything. But my body hurts and I feel like a fool. I’ve been inherently trained my entire life to never believe this hard in something because it always always disappoints. And despite my training and the instances in my life where I’ve thrown my body in completely, I never really learn. Maybe this is my fatal flaw. Maybe this is why I get heart broken so many times. Maybe this is just life and I’m not different than anyone else in the bucket. When you’re born starving, you do anything, no matter what, to keep satiated.

I’ve been poisoned and angry. I’ve been desperately sad with glimpsed clarity. I will be OK, but feel for now that some internal failure has wrecked me. This time, perhaps not always, but this time I am unsuitable.

The reality of this life is sometimes even the smallest things can change us, even when nothing has really changed. And each of these changes collect on our bodies like mussels on a pier. We are rooted in the water, watching the suns rise and set day after day, hit by waves and collecting the scars and barnacles that reveal our age.

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