Also. I really love that he puts trigger warnings on very rough content. He knows it could be bad and he wants to take care.

I'm howling. My throat swells with the tears that have been preordained. But my grief is because I will never know everything. I'll never learn what happened.

Somewhere in the last decade I began to value everyone else's beautiful experiences. And BOY HOWDY do I have questions.

I am not ready.

But I'm no longer being dragged, kicking and screwing, my nails breaking and bloody and stinging in the Arizona sun as I resist and rejected time.

But when my stomach drops out from under me when I remember that we cease to exist when our heart beats the final throb-

But then, the Before, Before therapy and medicine and fulfilling work, existential dread was almost comforting. Or I had to stay for my loved ones. Or I would sacrifice myself for them.

But now I sit here, recovering from pneumonia, trying to write myself together again.

When my mom had her tumor out (c-free since 2011), my elder sibling had come to witness - and my mother got obsessed with making sure sib ate sloppy joes. The supply list of beef, sloppysauce, buns, absorbent materials, and various bottles and tubes of supplies made for awkward eye contact w/cashier

... Okay nevermind I literally went to the spawn for the shiny I wanted and it was there.