an almost unbearable air of impending doom

it seems to you a sign.

a writer reckons with loss.

grief gets deeper with age.

if I had to do it over, I'd drink coffee, play.

no pressure.

she ruminated on her love life.

I need to find my way out of this relationship.

I wish I'd spent more time grief-stricken.

home

I have jokes written down in my notes app,

with this self-critic thing starting, I think it was my first depression.

and like all birds

they sing when they're buried,

I don't understand it-