its kinda crazy uh. life moves too fast. too, too fast. that wasnt six months ago, that wasnt a year ago, that wasnt two. i. im too old. i’ll be too old. all im doing is getting older—im not making any thing of it. i havent done anything exceptional in years—sure, im a published author, but, god, thats old, old news. ive fell off. i plan to do exceptional things, but everyone will be dead by then, nothing but ghosts to congratulate me on my milestones, or share in my troubles, or to share in those everyday joys which i suppose can be experienced alone but are double or triple the joy when with another. those i must experience with only my own suffocating thoughts to accompany me. i dread just the thought of it. all my family dead, all my friends long gone, and perhaps i will meet more but i fear they will only remind me of the others, as is already happening. remind me of friends which i have left and regret doing so, friends who have left me and which i wonder if, of the situation, there is nothing i couldve done better to keep their love, friends who have left, simply left, no thought to it or no choice, or those which have drifted away without want from either party, but are still there to talk to—if i could muster the courage. if i could muster the courage! god! all my problems will leave me then. then i will not leave my friends, then i will not make my friends want to leave me, then i will not drift away from them, +
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