Today is Thursday. Thursday is today. There is no difference between those two sentences. It is nothing. Their relationship with one another is the exact metaphor for the relationship between my life and its meaning.
Today is Thursday. Thursday is today. There is no difference between those two sentences. It is nothing. Their relationship with one another is the exact metaphor for the relationship between the significance of life and living.
Today is Thursday. Thursday is today. There is no difference between those two sentences. It is nothing. Their relationship with one another is the exact metaphor for the relationship between the feeling of how my neck burns and burns (but I can’t do anything about it, can I because I’m already screwed up enough and I’ve had enough and enough) and how I just want to stop the burning (but I can’t can I because my feet won’t reach the ground and my toes won’t reach the floor and that phrase is like today is Thursday and Thursday is today isn’t it?).
Today is Thursday. Thursday is today. There is no difference between those two sentences. It is nothing. Their relationship with one another is the exact metaphor for the relationship between the importance of my screams and the empty house.
Today is Thursday. Thursday is today. There is no difference between those two sentences. It is nothing. Their relationship with one another is the exact metaphor for the relationship between my thoughts which goes oh god, oh god, why now why am I regretting now and the pain which goes burn, burn, burn, burnburnburn.
Today is Thursday. Thursday is today. There is no difference between those two sentences. It is nothing. Their relationship with one another is the exact metaphor the relationship between thinking about red headphones and her and Vincent and Chase and her and Perry and her and plates with cold untouched food and Dad and her and her and wanting to not die and her.
Today is Thursday. Thursday is today. There is no difference between those two sentences. It is nothing. I’m dead.
I may or may not turn this into a novel in the far future. I do have a plot for it and all.
YOU ARE READING
Stuff
Short Storythis is merely a compilation of short stories a person has made and posted online so she may be able to remember she wrote these. they mean everything and nothing. that sentence is cliche.
