it’s too late if you want to break me, I’m already broken.
Like grasping onto smoke or air, no matter how hard I try to hold onto you, you slip away back into the darkness. Even now, even now to wake up and find reality as it is, hurts.
I’ve also suddenly been reminded another reason why I haven’t been able to finish Nanowrimo all the other years I’ve attempted it or thought of it. November is a month of paralysing emotions, of guilt and of helplessness, of remembrance of failure when a bright spark in my life was extinguished.
No matter when it is, the memories of the bleak Novembers rise up year after year to haunt me.
the ghost of you wanders through my dreams.
