Most days, it's okay. I wake up, look out the window, and feel perfectly glad to be alive.
On some days, I wake up to wish that I didn't. It seems like for no good reason to have fallen out of love so randomly. But that's what it is. And for the rest of the day, it gets harder and harder to fend off the urge to get in bed and cry and heave and sleep. The world around seems different on some days, muffled. But I'm staring at all their faces and it's as if they don't see me as the air gets used. That's just some days, scattered throughout existence.
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