21

“I just keep searching for something I can’t even name. I look around me and find nothing. It’s like my life is a dying landscape. There’s nothing here for me. And sometimes I feel like there never will be anything. I’m destined to just be lost and useless.”

“Maybe I was being too picky. Maybe I didn’t want to be close to anyone. Maybe I’d just be the type who couldn’t feel love all the way or something.”

When we go—and we all will—when our lungs say hello to our final breath, our existence burst from the seams of our bodies, dispersing into the universe, we won’t be gone—not really, at least. When you go, no one will remember your darkness, or your battles, or every mistake you ever made; rather they will remember the times you made them laugh, or the feeling when you pulled them in just a little tighter for a hug. They will remember the look in your eyes the first time you picked up a guitar. When the times comes, no matter where your journey took you, no matter how many demons you fought, they won’t see any of it—they will see you, eating cool whip out of tub at 2 in the afternoon, smirking, carefree, and—happy.