december’s language is imprecise grief.

a knife called grief.

but when someone’s gone and you’re the primary keeper of his memory—letting go would be a kind of murder, wouldn’t it? i had so much love for him, even if it was a complicated love, and where is all that love supposed to go?

my eyes ache with the weight of unshed tears ╱ you are my home, do you not understand?

human beings in a mob ╱ whatʼs a mob to a king? ╱ whatʼs a king to a god? ╱ whatʼs a god to a non⸺believer who donʼt believe in anything?

THIS IS MY BROTHER AND I NEED A SHOVEL TO LOVE HIM.

all parents damage their children. it cannot be helped. youth, like pristine glass, absorbs the prints of its handlers. some parents smudge, others crack, a few shatter childhoods completely into jagged little pieces, beyond repair.

all god does is watch us and kill us when we get boring. we must never, ever be boring.

whatʼs done can't be undone. how do i fit into this new world? i should have been warned, somebody should have told me. how was i to know that that sort of world wasnʼt going to go on for ever?

the more sin he sees, the more his belief in original sin is confirmed. everyone likes to have his deepest convictions confirmed : that is one of the most abiding of human satisfaction.

a ruined man fell from her hands like a ripe fruit, to lie rotting on the ground.

i’m here, i’m there, i’m everywhere ⸺ but you can’t catch me now.

when you destroy somebody, you are destroying yourself meanwhile. maybe right now you are not alert, but one day you will find that the same ditch that you have dug for others has proved your own grave.

there was something else i couldn’t quite define⸺something that made me uneasy. we were a wrong fit, like unmatching puzzle pieces.

the gods have crazed you.

is it my relative sanity that makes my life here so painful, so desperate, so hopeless? loosen my grip on that, and perhaps life both in the asylum and out becomes much easier...

i am my heart’s undertaker. daily i go and retrieve its tattered remains, place them delicately into its little coffin, and bury it in the depths of my memory, only to have to do it all again tomorrow.

my fingers bled on every fret: you are the ache i won’t forget.

i watched her take him from me and his love is no longer my own ╱ now they are gone and i sit alone and watch one cigarette burn away.

❝you,❞ he said, ❝are a terribly real thing in a terribly false world, and that, i believe, is why you are in so much pain.❞

we crossed a line, didn’t we? and there is no way we can go back.