4/28/15 in The Thing

The more things
fucking things, man. I’m not eloquent. No matter how I try, conspire, pretend. I’m not.
Right
The more /things/ change, the more /things/ stay the same. This. This feeling is the same. The loss. The stupid feeling of loss that is over a decade old now.
Over place. A thing.
A thing that isn’t even the thing I lost.
So I sit here, looking for a salve or a bandage to cover this scab I keep picking open.
There is no replacement out there. I’m not sure if this thing, this place in my head ever really existed.
I dream of an imaginary ghost
I fear