I don't think I could stomache the death of a friend...ever, at all. But since I've moved I feel like I've suffered the death of several friendships, metaphorically speaking. Sometimes it feels like an effort just to control thought...making attempts to handle it. It's like watering a plant just to cut it down; investing at the brink of recession. What's the fucking point? And to love fully: deep and immersed only for the river to choke dry at the end of its path; doesn't lead to an ocean, doesn't lead to a beautiful spring, it just ends in dry oblivion nothing to offer but a sack of shit life left behind. It's all just too much.