It’s a cloak you can hide under, one you find solace in, even after all this time.

You could live your entire life under it- a pillar of your lonely crusade into oblivion.

“Is that really a life?” They might ask. You don’t know. Definitions are a subjective and fickle thing, a mess of arbitrary jargon designed to help us understand. Often, they work to the contrary.

If the past is any baseline, they all lie through their teeth. Is life nothing more than an infected wound, slowly killing you from the inside as you desperately try to patch it? Something perpetually healing and never ‘healed’.