When I die, they will remember me as the shining example and the beacon of hope that I was, while I lie in the ground, rotting myself to sleep.
I think I know why I’m feeling so conflicted all the time - my childhood is going through its death throes. The 12-year-old in me is thrashing around while my 20-year-old self is desperately trying to send him to bed.
There are two sides of me.
Between them is a void.
They look at each other through this emptiness like a prisoner and his visitor.
