Maybe they're really nothing. Nothing at all. Not leftovers of a reality almost gone. Not even echoes of a reality gone for months. And not even inklings of a future promised yet denied.
Maybe they're nothing.
Nothing at all.
Perhaps it's all in my head. Perhaps that's where it's always been. Perhaps that would make the most sense. Perhaps that would explain everything, to everyone but me.
He screams and he moans and he groans. Sometimes, he cries. His agony is as unimaginable as it is inevitable.
He will not die. He will not starve and he will not drown and he will not suffocate and he will not take his own life. He suffers and he endures.
Somehow, he survives.
I pity him, and I admire him. I worship him.
People like to spout platitudes to me. It makes them feel wiser and therefore superior to me. One such platitude is, "God will never give you more than you can handle."
My response to that is, "Tell that to my friend WomanRepellant."
They're not leftovers and they're not echoes and they're not inklings. What the fuck are they?
Seriously, I want to know. I need to know.
I fucking deserve to know.