I know how this ends

I’ve done it quite a few times

I can see the roads unfolding, I know how distance works and I know the price stubbornness comes at

If 3 billion people can find a way to forgive god for throwing meteoroids into the midst of harmony and stolen happiness - I can find a way to forgive us for wanting to live a little– regardless of the cost.

But excitement is sort of like a shady service offered by a corrupt corporation, that comes with hidden charges; when the party ends and the smoke settles down and friends bid farewell - the unmade bed, the boxes on the floor of your room, spilling ashtrays, and the pile of dishes in the sink, conspire to punish you for not knowing your place, as a nazi officer might choose to punish a bunch of orphans for laughing too hard

And thus the circus begins - now, the sound of a mosquito is going to take you down a wormhole of all the worst things that happened to you as a child, things you know to be lies, like some sort of sickly octopuses, draw their slimy little tentacles down your throat

The walls close in and you can feel the ceiling just two inches above your nose and all you can think of is just someone being there for you at that moment

To tell you that it’s going to be alright,

that, at least, the birds are still out there in their nests and that they will be there tomorrow as well

That the world hasn’t ended, that the ceiling is not really there, and that octopuses are kinda cute

And for some reason, no matter how many times you tell it to yourself, it doesn’t work