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Diary:

"Life is essentially a cheat and its conditions

are those of defeat; the redeeming things are not happiness

and pleasure but the deeper satisfactions that come out of struggle."

- F. Scott Fitzgerald

Entry 2: Public Mourning is Fucking in Rythm and Sorrow:

When there are no more I'm sorry s to be told, I come home and lay half drunk in bed, and I pray.

I have plead with God to make the pain subside...

Some days I am a super hero, where nothing can take me away from this earth and I can put my past behind me, put the hurt aside and focus on nothing but the future...

Some days are merciless days, that torture and torment me with an endless sea of fear and destruction, and I destroy, and destroy, and destroy, all that seems precious in this world to me.

Death is endlessly appealing, I have spent my youth absorbed in it's mysterious beauty, but it has all collapse now, and left me with the restlessness of living.

In the early morning I drive in the pale blue blur that casts a shadow on the day even before it's begun. I remember his face, and his smile and his laugh, and I push it down deep into a place I will never find again, until the day dawns again.

I have put away everything he had, everything he gave me, every memory I cherished, into a chest, and locked it, as if letting it out would be letting this beast in me out again.

Everyone mourns differently, my absence lately has been purposeful. My life will not be filled with forget me not's, rather just forget me's....

I forget myself, who I use to be, the woman he use to know, and maybe it's better that way...

Fucking in Rhythm and Sorrow:

"Don't act like there is no tomorrow

You should use the pain and sorrow

To fill you up with power

Life's both sweet and sour"

-Bjork