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…

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