What might happen, and you will let it
The seven stages of grief and not meaning anything but words to me.
You’ll steal books from everyone in order to keep your mind occupied. You’ll feel alone, at times. You’ll visit your family but find no relief. Occasionally the money you spend on alcohol will birth a fantastic night in which the future does in fact seem as brilliant as it did when you were pre-pubescent. You’ll wake up late, and feel as if your heart has slowed to an almost still. Or it has sped up to the point that each beat conjoins so you cannot count the drums. You’ll spend time finding inaccuracies within guilt as an emotion. You’ll stop believing in whatever God you relied on till now. You will find it difficult to make easy conversation about mundane things. You’ll spend too long on your parents lounge floor, with your back to the fire, searching for solace in the over-dramatised emotions splayed across television screens. You’ll cook meals you don’t plan on eating. You’ll go for walks that you know are pointless.
You’ll buy drugs and feel better. You’ll burn candles in the midst of a comedown. You’ll fall out of love. You’ll run out of clean clothes and feel hopeless. A lot.
I don’t really know what to do, I admit. Whatever new experiences I imagined in 2010 have faded to a water stain. What’s worse is that it’s still there. I can still remember feeling mindlessly hopeful.