Why Do People Want To Pretend That

I Feel Like Someone Is Pressing Me Into A Mold That Does Not Fit My Body, Forcing Me Intothe Wrong Shape.

Nature Is Neutral. Nature Doesn't Care How Much Money A Person Makes.

No Factions? A World In Which No One Knows Who They Are Or Where They Fit? I Can't Even Fathom It. I Imagine Only Chaos And Isolation.

I Feel The Monster Of Grief Again, Writhing In The Empty Space Where My Heart And Stomach Used To Be. I Gasp, Pressing Both Palms To My Chest. Now The Monstrous Thing Has Its Claws Around My Throat, Squeezing My Airway. I Twist And Put My Head Between My Knees, Breathing Until The Strangled Feeling Leaves Me.

I Think About Pressing Myself Against Him, But I Can't, Because All Our Secrets Would Keep A Space Between Us.