I'm sitting in my empty old house alone. Just me and the dogs. The air is heavy with nostalgia. I miss all the times I cursed out loud after stepping on bricks of lego. Somewhere earlier on my timeline I veered off the highway. These back roads are too dusty to always see the markings. It's not great for gas. But I think I get pretty good mileage.
It's funny how who we are can be so different from who we thought we would be as children. The drugs, the passive rage, the fear to do what must be done. I still haven't let it grip me - there's still that.
Whether it is good, bad, or ugly - **** happens. We have to learn to deal with it before we drown