fuck that.

i haven't left the house today, nor have i left my pajamas. i'm feeling quiet and drained, and i haven't had the nerve for the world. i'm much more content curled on the couch in my comic book world.

god help me, i wasn't ready for this. i wasn't prepared, my wall still in shambles and my armor rusting in the corner. strength is a fantasy word, and i don't have the imagination for that.

ever the fucking optimist, i was ready for him to get better. i was ready to walk into that hospital room one morning and see him breathing. but i wasn't ready for this, not ever.

tomorrow, it will be one month, and i'm just as stupid to the fact. one thing at a time right? let's just try to accept it before we deal with it? well, fuck that. i wasn't ready.

he was the one who helped me through shit like this. he was the one who held my hand, soothed me to sleep, and told me that crying was all right. so who do i turn to now? myself? that's the most pathetic joke i've ever heard, because damn if i could see me now.

where do i go without my boy?