i feel like

I want to be a bloody recluse.
Write.
Draw.
Cry.
Laugh.
Play music the whole bloody day long and wail.
But the outside world is beautiful too, coaxing me out.
The beauty pales, comes in second to her smile.

Is it so hard to believe that she's gone.
That everyone looks back fondly and nothing more.
Why am i so caught up.

Should i delete her number. her texts.
her pictures. that video of her where she refuses to swear mildly as written in the script.

That stupid turning point where i received the message second saying she won't make it.
She won't?
She didn't.

xxx

on days like these i write. i run through all my doubts.
The things i never did,never said.
It's good for my writing side.
Yeah. optimism ftw.