There is something rotting in my room. I can smell it. I took out the trash and searched my room but I cannot find the source of the smell.
You can only smell it when you first walk in. After that, you stop noticing.
And I can’t stop from thinking its my soul and my body rotting away.
I need to go to Seattle for work. But I cannot bring myself to buy the ticket. I cannot bring myself to commit. Despite my claim of lift of guilt, it is his words that make me afraid to go.
Blog, did I tell you what happened? Probably not.
In brief, my first love confronted me. After 4 years of no contact, he confronted me for going to a place he was at. Like my presence, which had nothing to do with him, was torture.
He lives in Seattle. And despite the fact that I told him that I will not back down if we run into each other again. I still cannot buy that ticket.
And I keep thinking its my soul or my body thats rotting.
A tiny part of me wants it to be cancer. Terminal. Just so I can be done. Done with the world. Done with getting out of bed everyday. Done with trying to be a better person.
What a great gift to not worry about tomorrow. What a great gift to go out with a bang, instead of a wimper.
I am an asshole.
