As I lay here

I’m afraid to fall asleep. I’m afraid to miss something. The n I realize you’re not here with me, you no longer want to hear my stories. There is no part of Me to interest or excite you anymore.

And it breaks my soul.

You can survive a broken heart. Time heals all wounds. But a broken soul? That stuff is serious.

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Listening to Dexter Freebish while cleaning a desk is my idea of idyllic Monday afternoon stuff. The way your personal issues can be disregarded as you furiously dust off a desk that probably hasn’t seen love for months, and has had two cats walking on it all the time is one of the highest highs out there. Also getting news that some would consider devastating and working through it like the champ you are proves something.

It proves that shit won’t keep you down and you will rise above it all to come out a bigger more beautiful butterfly. It proves that nothing can clip your wings, and if you damage a wing, you’ll dance your way to glory. It shows the world that despite setbacks you will rise and be awesome.