i started journaling in .txt files, and have put a stop to it. Well, my brain has put a stop to it. i feel as if i have come here to die. its an emotional reaction. a new house, quite undone, with horrendous features, that may last a while longer. So this says, I can't travel, that eternal salve, so i thought, but now have to pay in excess every year, to maintain a house i do not want, and never will. childish, i cannot even conjure a way towards physical death, yet i am old enough to know of its coming, rather, i, have taken up dieing inside, to myself, to all my dreams, that rot like flowers, never having been brought to seed.
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