Chernobyl has nothing on boys my age. Armstronging us into unions that leave us empty and spent. Descendants of a man who couldn't be bothered to take the fall, I mean if they was beefing why put Eve in it?

I have been listening to Lianne La Havas cover of I say a little prayer on repeat. I want to believe good songs or well written ones, where the lyrics communicate something, are only good because we attach sentiment or memories to them. So I wonder which memory I have pinned on this song, and if it will live as long as this song exists...

If i saw all the cards life would deal me/which cards would i have picked/where would my hand shake and retract with horror/would my hand hover over grief long enough for it to know i am afraid of it/maybe i’d reshuffle the cards again/because anxiety and overthinking are pills i take in hand fulls/or maybe i’d remove all the cards where you and i existed/maybe i’d throw away the whole deck/because ever since you left i carry a part of you everywhere with me.

I didn't quite understand who I was in that moment, I had hope though. Looking back I figure I was a lot of things. Hope is brave so I was brave, hope is chance so I was taking mine, hope is trusting the process and giving into it and so was I. I thank God first and myself second, for holding on for this long.

"Re-entry is always hard. You emerged from deep cover. I mean, it wasn't covert ops. You weren't a spy. But I know the feeling. I know it very well. You come back, you re-enter to find the world kept spinning without you. You go to the places you used to go and you see the people you used to see and it's like something is missing. But really, everything is missing. Somehow everything is different. Everything is.. "

I don't see anyone being my whole world, they'd have to be too many things at very different times. They would have to be confusing, and frankly I don't want that from a love interest, I already have my whole world for that.

I hear the wind loses its direction sometimes. That, if you pay close attention the truth is in the eyes. I hear continents are dead wood, drifting off on oceans. I don't believe in promises but sometimes I imagine my mother is the sun, a soft reminder that even my worst days deserve sunrises. Sometimes I don't believe in truth, Until I see my mothers eyes. Sometimes my mother is the ocean, me the dead wood drifting further away. Sometimes, almost all the times she's the wind, stirring everything in the right direction. I hear when God made Eve,the truth, the wind, the sun, the ocean convened in one room.

Some days i think of myself as a great writer, pen paper and all the works.On other days i am everything i’ve ever written, incomplete and afraid to become.