How you started so brightly,
With visions of delusional grandeur,

How the path seemed only to lead up,
Into the hills,

It seemed easy to get lost in those ups and downs,
The moon hung like a silver dollar at the end of the path,
Forever and always,

Before we knew it the coast had claimed us,

Swept from our foothold in the hills we clung to each other tightly,
As each tidal wave crested our mouths and our eyes stung with the anger of the ocean,


Our lungs burning to breathe,

You broke from my grasp,
At first I would scramble to regain it,

Soon to realize it was your will,
And it could not be undone,

I bobbed lonely and sunbaked on the open sea for countless days,

I had all the time I needed to think the thoughts I always pushed away,

As I lay baking,

How dark, and quietly you ended,
Not many to bear witness,

How long and cold your warm summers were,
To look back on after wiping the lenses clear.

In 350 weeks I went through alot of pain, had an uncountable number of dream like days. Went through moving and losing my mom, being fired, losing my dog and many childhood friends.
  In so many ways the pain I've faced these passed 8 weeks hasn't been something totally unfamiliar, its not as though I've never met the anxieties im dealing with now. But for some reason they are so scary, they seem so big. It took me a second to realize that the reason why is because before I knew I didn't have to face those moments alone. I always had backup.
   Its not that I think I'll never have backup again, its not that at all. And I know ill be just fine without it for now. Its scary to feel so alone after 350 weeks of having each other's backs. 8 weeks from now I'll feel much differently im sure, and 8 weeks from then things will be much different, I can't imagine 350 weeks from now. With any luck, well see each other around by then, cheers.

I’m just tired. Tired of being broken. Tired of being forgotten. Tired of being used. Tired of feeling lost. TIred of being nothing. Tired of fighting myself to eat. Tired of feeling empty. Tired of feeling alone. Tired of Tired of doing everything for everyone; But getting nothing in return. Tired of being pulled back into this dark place. I’m just tired. Tired of crying.. Tired of breathing.. I’m just so tired..

Most people have had a moment where they are just living their life, and then suddenly their nose picks up on something and they are brought back in time. You walk into a restaurant and a smell takes you back to being a child on Christmas morning in your grandmas kitchen. Maybe you go to a new friends house and their hand soap brings you back to moments that you haven't thought of in years.
    This is such a strong phenomenon that most people can give you an example of, and it's very interesting. Scientists believe that this is such, because the parts of the brain related to memory, and emotional memories specifically, are directly connected to the parts that decipher our olfactory senses. These associative memories are often very vivid and visceral, because the connections are so strong and direct within the brain.
   I have burned every candle we bought together down to the end, partially because I want to forget you, and partially because I'd do anything to be taken back in time to the way things were for just a second.
  Its actually been weeks since I threw the last one out. If you're wondering, it didn't work. I wasn't brought back to better times. But as the last breath of life burned from the wick in the cinnamon apple candle you loved, I smiled.
   Its time for me to buy new candles, and I am so excited.

The other day I read an article about how climate scientists were recording a heat wave in Eastern Antarctica unlike anything we've seen before.  The article mentioned certain regions being 50-90 degrees hotter than usual.
Accross the world, Vladimir Putin initiates a "special military operation" wherein he invades Ukraine, and begins killing innocent civilians. The west is on eggshells as to how they should respond. The tension is thick, and the world is watching.
The Amazon burned for almost 9 months straight in 2020, 72,000 Square miles of Australian bushland was scorched by wildfires in 2020, California has seen record amounts of homes destroyed in its own wildfire seasons the past few years.
Amidst it all Harry styles drops his new hit single "as it was" and destroys spotify records. Will Smith is slapping chris rock for a woman who doesn't love him at the oscars. Betty white died, Bob Saget died, DMX died. Kimye split up. Rhianna gets pregnant.
  All of this is happening around us, the world is quite literally falling apart. And there's an image of humanity that I honestly love in my head. Which is us sitting on the edge of it all, playing our favorite songs, watching the end play out. Its beautiful to think that even as the flames lap at our toes, well probably find something to sing about.

I'm not sure if it was the music,
The ****, or the sheer dreamlike joy of it all, that disguised and distracted me from the click-click-click of our coaster cart climbing ever higher.
  Strapped in tight, I had long gotten over my fear and anxiety of the ride we were on.
  After all, we had waited in line for what seemed like years before getting to experience the thrill they all sing about.
  Before I knew it we had reached the top.
We sat there for a brief eternity, appreciating the view, enjoying each other's company. Your hair looked so dark against the blue sky, and my skin felt so warm, in the high-sky breeze. The birds we always watched were practically our peers for just a moment.
  In a thousandth of the time it took to reach the peak, we were halfway through our freefall, all the beauty we were enveloped in, now merely a blur.
  Although at first fear gripped at my mind when my stomach turned as our cart plummeted, it soon gave way to joy, as I slowly realized this was the true ******. These moments of helplessness as we are whipped around each curve and loop, are the parts we climbed that hill for. The parts that end up in songs, and poems.
  The view was great and calm, but the rough parts, the parts that might leave bruises, are the parts that give it meaning.