I feel like I just got sucker punched in the stomach.
You know what?
Based on my things that I cannot publish on here, I’m a fucking writer. I’m doing it. And I”m good.
But they will stay hidden amongst the things I could never say.
And then I ask myself, why shouldn’t I post them on here? If they don’t give a shit about you, why should you about them? Who knows. But the sad thing is, I do.
I’m too drunk for this. That’s the trend though lately, it seems.
Drunk and alone. It’s been a long day. Week. Month. I’m just so lonely. Yes . That’s what this will be called.
John Butler - Ocean
I booked a flight to Vegas with a friend today. It was one of those spur of the moment, I’m doing this, type of things. I just need to get away. It’s this false sense of running away from my problems.
After that, I’ll spend two weeks in California exploring all the cities we were going to. I’ll be so busy and do and see so much. It’s this false sense of staying away from my problems.
I can run. I can get away.
I’m doing a better job of faking it. I’ve learned when to smile. When to laugh. What not to say. Where to look when someone brings up your name. How to properly excuse myself to catch my breath.
This is all part of the facade. These vacations. These getaways. They think it’s because I’m getting better.
They think you left me for good. But you’ve been around more than ever. You’re in my head, my music, my bed. Every single goddamned day.
I know that even in these new places I’m running to, I’ll see you everywhere. I won’t be able to escape this no matter how far I run.
I have more than I show
I speak less than I know
Was any of it real?