ok.

63 days.
So many things can happen in two months.
I’m not sure if time actually exists, or if it’s just some abstract concept we’ve made up to try and help explain our existence.
I feel like my mantra has been “fuck everything” since the dawn of it all.
Why are feelings so real? and why do I have to feel all of them so intensely all of the time (or nothing).
I partied fucking hard this weekend. Sober. Smoke free. Nothing to hide behind but my half assed attempt at being bitter and old (but am I really either of those things?)

I keep forgetting who I am. Maybe I’ll figure it out if I can remember to write more. Maybe I’ll figure it out if I remember to try to find meaning in everything.

Maybe I should just stop talking and think about it all again before I let everyone know what I’m thinking.

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