I figured that I am living life like I do tattoos. All anybody really wants is to be happy and live life to the fullest with minimal regrets, right? And my philisophy is really to just conveniently forget about the pain, hold the good parts dear to my heart and just concentrate on moving on to the next thing with those good parts. Some parts of it can be really really painful but you just have to sit through it like a champ because you wanna live life, whatever you have got inside of you, tapped and untapped. You want to live life to the fullest, to experience every angle of it, taste it on your tongue, the lingering overtaste in your mouth when you wake up the next morning, however you wanna do it, pain and without. And often than not, you remember the hurtful parts more vividly than anything else and you learn to avoid those mistakes. I think people call that 'growing up'.

Everyone wants to know if getting tattooed is painful, whether that pain is excruciating. Don't segments of your life hurt you to the point where for that moment, you wouldn't believe you could survive it? I'll always think, yes, of course getting tattooed hurts but that's largely the point why people get tattooed and you would always have it in you to conquering it and at the end, emerged all the more stronger and more beautiful.

Liesl's 7th death anniversary is just a couple days away now and coincidently, I'm archiving her 7th Letter. For the record, I've found it just absolutely, incredibly surreal and absurd that it has been so long. 7 whole years. Who was I for the past years? Who am I becoming? How did I ever get by those nights of immense yearning and pain? What ridiculous reasons did I have for me to wake up the very next day and not just rot in some kind of mindless guilt and loss? Why would I wanna continue living life as it was, pretending the day was filled with nothing but rainbows, kisses, and comfortable silence and love? Why? I suppose the reasons aren't really important anymore.

I dangle my feet, sitting at a crossroad. I wanna talk about her for as long as I possibly can but I I can't. I wanna remember her face and everything it meant to me but it's becoming more and more like an abstract artpiece that's fading. I wanna hold breadcrumbs in my palm and instantly feel my heart break. I wanna spend every evening just sitting by that traffic light where her life was so quickly snuffed out, where I felt her temperature gradually dropped, when I could only imagine still hearing her voice and listening to her breath.

I felt blood flowing through my fingers, and how it created an adhesive on my body where it landed on my shirt, the heavy wetness just draining away into a huge puddle of mess and nothingness, thick and what mess it made, a feeling I could never come to understand. A feeling I hope I never had to understand. I really don't know where I am going with this. have been trying to publish it for so long and nothing comes and I'm just babbling. It must be because I'm just too exhausting...forgive me.

It's time I live life.

"I'm not gonna live for you, or die for you
or do anything anymore for you
'cause you leave me here on the other side
won't you leave me here on the other side...
not gonna live for you, or die for you
or do anything...

not gonna shed one more tear for you...
at least not 'till sunday afternoon"