Im sitting here like it was yesterday.
It wasn't.
Duh.
My nails weren't black yesterday
I wasn't as insecure yesterday.
But even though I got new habits.
And new records.
And a new reason to feel sad.
I feel like nothing has changed.
He is still complaining.
She is still annoying.
And I am unamused.
So I ask myself why.
Why is the past so prominent.
Why is the present so dull.
Why can't I change it.
But I give up.
Like I always do.
And I complain about it.
And I call it poetry.