Everyone in This Room Will Someday Be Dead

I guess this is why Catholics teach that suicide is a sin. They were running out of priests.

Before I even knew the word ‘gay,’ I knew I was gay.

I’ve got it all figured out. We’re a parasite. Other animals on this planet coexist with nature. We don’t; we’re like scabies. Tiny mites covering the outer layer of earth, burrowing into it, infecting it. We are like tapeworm

I felt like I was never in the moment I was in. I was always looking back, or
worried about the future

I am presenting as happy because people prefer that. I am less likely to brighten people’s day by wincing and scowling while being burned.

“Breaking a rosary is bad luck. It means someone’s mad at you,” she explains.

I have a feeling that if I broke a rosary, that person would be her.

“I find I feel less anxious when I spend my time trying to make the people around me happier,” he shares. “Maybe you should try that.”

If we discovered some other animal who created infrastructure in the anticipation that their little animal peers might get hurt, we would all be absolutely moved and amazed.

When I see cats cuddled up on pillows, I find it sweet; we are like that too.

I wonder if anyone has ever died looking at this ceiling.

I wonder if I will die looking at this ceiling.

“One day I am going to die,” my internal dialogue asserts.