It's as if everything that happens only matters if
you can somehow manage to incorporate it into this
Over-arching narrative
that's meant to be your life.

So that when, and if,
you're hard-pressed to explain it to someone,
you have these convenient bullet points to hit.

"So then that happened, and it was traumatic, so then I did this to deal with it,"

And the scary part is
when you stop caring to weave it all in together, when apathy sets in,
and the actions and events just stay random nonsense.

Just chaos.

And I know there are those who don't struggle with this.
Where everything that happens to them automatically gets justified into this narrative of who they are, and what this is, and they're surrounded by people to explain it all with.

But I am not one of those.

And I can only ever make sense of it after the fact.
Put it into context,
after time has passed.

And I can only ever do it alone.

Yes, now that - this - is a mood.

You know, I just realized I've never asked you about you.

How do you spend your days?
What do you do?
What goes through your head when you hear something like this?
Does it put you in a similar mood?
Because I can't help but wonder if we'd get along well,
mellowing out to the same tunes.

Then I remember why I never ask.
Because these moments mean so much.
It's too much to lose.

He tears petals off flowers with a limp wrist,
hoping one day he'll hope for something more than just another tryst.
But his hope, like his desire, is lethargic.

He wastes no pennies on a wish.

He's convinced a seed was sown long ago,
when he let a stray emotion get the better of him.
But he's never let the water touch the soil since,
for fear of what would grow.

He resists having to tend a garden born from a whim.

Just a snake wearing a farmer's skin.
Too distracted by his own hiss to hear the promise of kisses.
He pinches his pennies with off-green thumbs held close to his chest,
and he wastes none on wishes.

Meet me in the place where time and space end;
Where aether dreams split at the seams.
That's where I live.
That's where I'll be.

When this scene is rended by inevitability, and everything that could be, is, and ever has been bleeds together in a tapestry of shreds.
That's where I've been.
That's where I live.

I hope to see you at the end of it all.
We could hold hands, and stand tall.
Our shadows elongated and melted in Styx.

The king and queen of oblivion;
Swirling in flux, unfixed.
That's where I am.
That's what I've been living in.

We'll rule over all of this nothing when you get here.
Over all of this emptiness that weighs infinite tons.

I'll meet you in the depths of this pit,
just as soon as you come.

At the end of the day,
it's not my own end that I contemplate.

Those thoughts are so yesterday.

My situation has changed. The world has changed. People are changing. My outlook can change too.

At the end of the day,
I think about tomorrow,
and how I can begin something new.