“There are many mornings when I feel certain that the first perspective is irrefutably true. I wake up, I feel the inescapable oppression of the sunlight pouring through my bedroom window, and I am struck by the fact that I am alone. And that everyone is alone.
I guess I am not a morning person.”—Chuck Klosterman
the worst kind of loss is the kind you feel when its happening. you feel the person slipping through your fingers. this is what I felt with my dad. its like he was here one day and gone the next. some days I can’t even believe he died. some days I can’t eat. some days I can’t sleep. some days I can’t get out of bed. some days I can still smell him. some days I can still hear his voice. some days when I get home I wonder where his car is. some days I walk into a room expecting to see him. some days I look at the pictures on the walls and can’t believe he’s a thing of the past.
other days it easier. other days I’m happy he’s okay now.
these are the only pictures I have left of my dad on my camera, I wish I had taken more.
yeah, I’m Alex Winslow. We haven’t seen each other since eighth grade. Remember me? The fat fuck? The monster? The one you taunted? The one you avoided in the hallways? Well guess what, I’m on top of the fucking world now.
I hated all of you so much, but I wanted to be one of you so badly. Well, now I go to a different school. I’m one of them now. People hang out with me now, people enjoy my company. I got prettier and skinnier.
I went from this: