Journal Entry #3

Lucky number three (7 is still the luckiest, though). I'm crossposting from LJ, but here's my obligatory SpaceHey disclaimer that I mean everything I say, just not the way I say it. I will warn you about the mildly dark themes in this entry, however.

02/06/2025

There are a million and one different ways to die. You could crash my car---or I could crash yours. I could die alone---in a dizzyingly white hospital bed, hopped up on something or other, after my body finally revolts against the hell it's put itself through. You could shoot me point-blank and make snow angels in the contrail of my blood. I could forget about you, Finally. We could walk off into the ocean and forget how to swim together, or you can pool up inside of me until my organs wring themselves inside-out trying to release myself from you.

There are a million and one different ways to die, but they keep trying to convince us there’s only one way to live: That my hand in yours is a curse, that my voice is unbearable to hear, that my body is not my own. We are puppets strung along on the whims of our king and still---I find myself needing to kiss you---needing to scream---needing to bring forth something dazzling from this husk I am trapped in.

If I am evil, then I am a necessary one. If I am a curse, then I am the one they have put on themselves, Black and tar-sticky---a dark stain, evermore. If I am something alien, then I am a shooting star, and I refuse to go out any way other than brightly. They will only take me kicking and screaming and burning through the ozone. The people, they will see me, and they will never forget me.

With love,

Me