I wish I could care as much about my life as I did about theirs. I just, I don't know. I can't even be as involved in my life as I was in theirs. They aren't real. They are a family, in a book, that was on the bargain table at my store. Pure fiction. I imagine if I should ever finish my novel, it would read like that...intense, conflicted, scared...and lost. So completely LOST.
Sometimes it all has to just fall apart. You have to hit rock bottom in order to find any sort of way out, to see any sort of light at the end of the tunnel. It gets to the point where you're not even sure if you want a way out, or if you just want the earth to stop moving. EVERYTHING to just stop, but eventually it unfreezes and everything is the way it was...and "the same" has never done anyone any good.
Still lost. Still so very, very lost.
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