There is a point where I don’t have anything new to say. I am at this point now. To hear of loss, pain, emotional turmoil, I’ve written it. Bled and bled. Nothing come of it but the momentary release of fear. The ones I’ve loved who, inexplicably loved me are gone. Died young-ish. The one’s I’ve loved who fought to not love me, who didn’t want to hurt my feelings, who disappeared from my life, they are still walking around. Seems like loving me is a death sentence, and they were pardoned. I don’t know, I’m maudlin. I fucking hate the holidays.