I always regret reading others pieces.
They've all ended in recovery, and self-love, and triumph that I dont think I'll ever witness.
I dont think true happiness is real. Sadness is such an overwhelming experience that theres no way anybody is truly happy.
How do you feel content? Light? I cant imagine it without drugs.
Yet, even then, fucked up beyond belief, I'm still just as unhappy.
YOU ARE READING
My Past Memories
Short StoryWho are you when you're desperate enough to find love in anything? Different times, different people. Not entirely sure what to call this "book" but every piece is a day with someone or my personal feelings with them at the time.
