the feeling you get walking through a relatives house and looking at all their belongings right after they’ve died. trying to figure out what to do with all their things. did they all really add up? because they’re not here now to tell you so. your life is full of these pieces and fragments you’ve let stick to you along the way, just like the hitchhiker’s stuck to your jeans and the snow frozen to the cloth on your coat. memories both good and bad. all those bad habits you can’t shake like the rain from your hair. all those empty promises you made, because we all make them eventually. so empty you even forget you made them. you can’t help it but you run in all the wrong directions from it. you run into the darkest woods of depression sometimes. you want to hide but theres so many openings like the slits in the leaves above. letting the light of peoples worry in. would your mother really know what to say? you try not to think of what your father would say. its always the fear of disappointment that eats you away first, not the anger. but you somehow stay brave through it. because it doesn’t really scare you. no, you’ve been scared before. more scared of a phone call or a text message than of your own self. you’re not afraid to fight yourself. you’re one with your own demons. you crave that darkness. that struggle. fighting with yourself keeps you alive. keeps the blood warm under that thin skin. keeps those bones white and those veins tangled. veins more tangled than those headphones drowning out the world caving in on you. you take pride in your daily ritual. wake up late. always forget something. fake a breakfast. praise the warm coffee more than you fear the morning.