i'm a nine on that scale of humanity and so full of all the other numbers that i might break away into a million billion pieces.
there ain't no stories here. i don't have the time or the energy or the bones to unravel my fingers from the silk threads twisting beneath them and there's no reason to be afraid anymore because light went out of love went out of the now.
so now i'm biding time until an ever after of sorts so we can pick up the story at the last fraying ends of heroism and see what happens after the battle ends. because that's the most interesting part of all - sorting through the remains of all the could-have-beens.
i know too much about too many souls and no one knows a thing about me least of all myself, because i twist me down so low in my bones that it sometimes get very hard to breath. especially when your stomach is in twists from tangled knots of fear that clouds everything and makes the air come out in tiny, broken puffs.
it's privilege to be me to be writing this to have my problems be that i have no problems at all. privileged to coast through life without suffering, without struggling, without hate. and i have been trying SO HARD to think about everything to the point that i wonder if it's possible to really love anything all the way through anymore. there's too many cracks in the walls of my brain and too many people with better words and more powerful hands then mine.
there ain't no reason for this.
