annoyed with it. in the same vein. to continue some trope of agony and malaise. you did start this after all. but to abandon, to squander. to bounce back and convex. or is that to concave? to somehow demonstrate a new resolve, a new beginning. atrocious. impossible. boring.
instead instead what? this? this is nonsense. a means to an end. to get to the end of it. to say, we did this at least today. we wrote something. this isn’t writing. nothing is happening here. move on. same again, beginning again, only to end up in the same place. well worn map.
in the same vein, little to remark. birthdays and conundrums. complaints and feasts. well rested and yet new pains appear. not quite there yet. no new destination. only tracing the edges of what was once thought a treasure map. no longer seeking gold or lush riverbeds. just escape to some other territory.

to battle the night, to make it through the night. where there is bliss, where there is no worry. impossible dream. impossible to dream at times. I’m forgetting them more often. I forget to dream. what is there left to dream. how selfish. there’s them, the two of them. everything we were and could be but will never be again. said that the other day. it was poignant and true and beautiful.
but to think of them their lives entails watching them grow older and that in turn means your death. my death. me growing old, me finally showing my age. I boast how young we are, how young we look. but it will not be forever. at some point I will turn. at some point I will be fragile and incontinent. then that awful thought of the great sudden death that wipes me out without knowing. even worse. even worse the one where we all go in our sleep and my parents devastated and alone. grieving.
and so here. and so now. fighting through the night. fighting against the natural ebb and flow of proper sleep. of laying beside her in the dark to rest. only when exhausted. only when I am sure that sleep will overtake me. to make it into oblivion before the thoughts run wild.