My life is up for interpretation. Discussion, I never wanted it to be. As though there was a right way. To live. Or be. Living.
As though my lived experiences. Were just mirages. Mistakes and maladaptive memories. Maybe. It was all a bad. Dream.
Even as moments reside deep in my subconscious. And, how I felt. Which isn't much. These days. Cause why feel bad. When you. Can just. Not feel at all.
Lost in that stoic impulse. To endure. Every. Loss. As a passing of leaves in autumn. The heat of summer and i's dissipation. Something. To be uninvested in.
Resilient. Yolked to the failures. Of a wasted life.