Hasty is right, shit does happen.
My phone kept chirping.
I didn’t want to look at it so I left the phone on my nightstand and left the bedroom. The rest of the house was dark so I flipped light switches on as I walked barefoot over hardwood floors that creaked with each step.
I hate it when these melancholy moods hit. I focus on my existence. The lights came on because of me. The floor is creaking because of me. I am still here. And not everybody wants to cause me harm.
Why did life have to be so complicated? Why did I have to second guess everything every waking second? Always picking apart intentions, motives, body language, and words. Constantly fighting my first instinct to hurl accusations at every person I know as if I already know the most obscene lie would be the truth?
Because bad things happen that’s why.
I shook my head. I hated that his voice was still in my head. He used to have a face…
View original post 449 more words