K.G.

I could write about my day, but no I can't because I've never been good at that. If I did, and if I were, you would only be hearing about how I'm kind of a huge baby and can't even celebrate accomplishment and good things to come because right now, at the moment, I still feel utter defeat. I would write about how I broke down three times today and why. And I'd follow that up by writing about guilt, and how I spent all morning anxious about a job that I'm soon leaving anyway, that it took me hours to realize what day it was. I could write about my grandpa and how much I miss him and how I wish I had spent every spare moment with him when I was able to, and how I didn't, and how that still stings. I could write about the dream my grandparents were in last night, and how it always seems to happen that way, and how without faith in any type of God I do have faith in something because today is today, even though I didn't realize it until I saw pictures my parents posted online when I took a break at work, they were there last night with me.

But I won't write, because I can't write, because it's all so much and it won't mean the same to you anyway.