Fragment 7

We’re looking for things to hold onto. Our friends seem like the best things that we can find. I’m starting to forget. I’m pretty sure that soon I won’t even know who I am. It’s starting to get so cold. I don’t mean normal cold. I don’t mean the cold that you get outside, or the cold that you feel when it snows. I’m talking about a different cold. This cold is a lot deeper. It’s definitely inside. It’s buried. It feels like it should be lost, but just doesn’t want to be left alone. The thing with how cold things can start to feel is … I dunno … it’s confusing … the thing I hate is how things just start to get lost – important things. But because we’re pretty much fucked anyway. Sometimes it feels like we’re clinging onto things even when it’s too late to have them. Because sometimes things can still be so good. I mean really good. Awesome, amazing. But they just disappear so quickly. Sometimes I only realise how great things are after they’re gone. After the moments have burnt up. After they’ve died. There’s a constant sadness. It never shifts. It’s always there, even when something good is happening. Maybe it needs to be there. Maybe it’s binary. Suppose it wasn’t there; perhaps the good stuff wouldn’t seem as good anymore. If that’s true … I dunno … it just seems slightly sick, you know? To need that sadness.