Random Self-Quarrells and arguments.

okay

Each day is another life I've lived.
People move on, people become more secure, sure of themselves. Things change, the weather is on a neverending loop. I wonder what season may be my last. Will I look outside my window and see white clouds coating the ground, or a summer sun beaming down on the crisp blades of grass. Maybe I won't have a window. Maybe my death day will be as cold and as dark as my days spent. Maybe I'll wish I'd done things differently, maybe I'll blame others instead of myself, maybe maybe maybe maybe.
Maybe my death bed is the same one I lie on today. I suppose thatd be okay.
I guess what I'm trying to say
Is that I'm still not okay.
I may never be okay.
And unlike others, with that, I'm okay.