I’m afraid my thoughts have finally dried out. They didnt disappear, exactly. that would be too merciful. more that they became tired of carrying me around and have decided to sit somewhere in the corner of my brain, refusing to participate. i thought the dreams would take a little longer to get into my head than this. but my brain had other plans. Lately, i’ve found myself rereading our messages. Not because ive forgotten what she said, but because i keep trying to figure out whether i sound like myself anymore. i read the same conversation again and again, looking for the point where i became someone else without notfiying me. i worry that im slipping. not in a dramatic way, dont be ridiclous. just the little things might have. a sentance that sounds too tired. a reply that takes too long or something i say that makes it obvious i’ve been somewhere in my head for far too long. im afraid she’ll read between the lines and realize im not as fine as i keep insisting i am. and naturally, i cannot tell her. because if im being honest. pretending everything is perfectly fine is a far more reasonable solution than admitting that im exhausted and stuck inside my own thoughts. very mature. i know, ten out of ten. I don’t want to stop talking to her. shes the one and only person who somehow makes everything quieter. when everything else feels like pressure pressing down on me, talking to her makes me breathe a little easier. so avoiding her would be rather stupid, even by my standards. Theres also something else i havent told her. my spleen might get worse. theres a possibility things could become serious enough that i might not have as much time as i’d like. i hate even writing that. Not because i think im going to die tomorrow. obviously not. i have far too much unfinished business and an unreasonable amount of confidence for that. but after everything these years have managed to throw me, i dont think this is how im supposed to end. it feels almost insulting. after all that effort, all that suffering, all those spectacularly poor decisions, i refuse to have my grand finale be something as medically inconvenient as this. i still want time with her, a lot of it. enough to annoy her properly. enough to make more memories. enough to reread our messages years from now and complain about how embarrassing we both were. so No, im not dying. i just simply decided to become dramatically concerned about my mortality at three in the morning because i have nothing better to do, like all of you.
How narcissistic of me, even my potential demise has to somehow become about me.
Sincerely, The man who would like to remind everyone involved that, despite the alarming amount of nonsense my body and mind have been conspiring to produce, i am not going anywhere.
Not yet, anyway. i have people to bother, conversations to reread, things to overthank, complaints to write and an entirely unreasonable amount of confidence to maintain. besides, if i were going to die, i would at least expect the universe to have the decency to make it more interesting. i refuse to leave this world on such a boring note. it would be terribly out of character.
And frankly, who else is going to be this insufferably me?