sometimes i wish that my biggest problem was a broken heart or a broken bone, instead of a broken mind. but then i remember that no matter what the problem actually is, it's still a problem, and it would inevitably remain as big or small or infinite as any other problem.
i don't know how to take care of fish.
i don't even know where to start.
i keep telling myself that i just want it to die because then i can cry and tell myself that i can't even keep the simplest of creatures alive,
but i know that i'm just looking for attention
from myself.
i can barely keep myself alive on the best of days.
surprisingly, i'm not actually feeling that low.
i'm feeling fairly embarrassed, but that's beside the point.
i've lit candles and turned off the lights
and put in headphones and turned on the heat
and listened and listened and listened
to death cab for cutie.
"finally there is clarity,
this tiny life is making sense."
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