It gets exhausting sometimes. But that's life i suppose. The only thing worth collecting is memories and just hope they are good ones. Over time even the good ones become painful.
Im starting to think im much more masochistic and a self sadist than I ever thought possible.
Ever have a day thats completely unremarkable completely mundane and somehow draining and exhausting.
Lying in bed wondering how long the quiet is going to last, when the storm will start for me or even if it will and hoping against hope people i no longer see are safe.
But here i am like most days. Making dinner for one. Doing some washing and typing. Coming home to an empty home. Somehow I still have a side of the bed with the other half empty. Lying here staring at the ceiling both wondering and knowing it will be the same tomorrow. Each and every night