With my heart this broken, decimated mess, time takes on different meaning. Days and nights blur together into one, one long existence of sleeping or trying to get back to sleep. Feeling the pain or trying to avoid it.
There is only before when things were good, and right, and fair, and after when things aren’t. Before, for the first time I had hope. And now I have a mindful of memories that won’t go away. I wish time would take it’s regular rhythm up again. I want friends again. And outings and laughter, and singing and smoking.
But more than anything else, I want some sembelance of hope. Because with hope, I had the motivation to do so many things. And now my only motivation is to sleep, and to evade all obstacles and obligations that try to keep me from my bed.