Anna Bourn

Life already seems so much longer, just interminable, without you here, friend. Day one today and I forgot for a few minutes, only to remember how much less I enjoy, well, everything 

since learning you had passed, though my mind rejected this information at first, of course, and typing that screams betrayal, typing that is a crime I am both committing and validating.

I've decided to be inconsolable now that I've paid you a proper, shocked homage on that accursed site I only visit to write you weird, rambling messages and read your shorter and stranger ones.

I am adapting as best as I can, meaning as badly as possible, to the wounded animal eating most of my mind, meaning my emotions and mood swings throughout this century some might describe as the last 15 hours, a neutral measure of time, not something shatterproof shattering on a loop