Writing

Did you know that
A mayfly lives for less than a day?

Maybe this is selfish of me.
It probably is.

But I'm weak.
I can't handle death.

Not that I'm not thankful for being here
But I'm weak.

How do you know when you love someone?

I'm not talking about being comfortable around them
Or enjoying their presence.
I'm talking love love.

Some of us live in our own bubble world.

Eat, sleep, drink.

 Live, don't die, don't worry, don't care.

Move on.

They ignore, ignore, ignore, trying so hard to live their lives without strife.

The late nights usually surrendered to sleep

Are instead spent rolled over on our sides

Eyelids weak and the arms that hold up our heads weaker

As we run rivers of words out of our mouths.

I have a cat, and I miss him. I should be reading a short story for one of my classes, and I have a half-eaten burger in front of me, but I am thinking, only, of my cat.

Friendship,

Friendship is a wonderful, beautiful, amazingly quirky thing.

It’s meeting for the first time at a random place with no expectation of getting to know anyone, until comes a simple, “Hello.”