Maybe it’s because I watched a drama-documentary about Kurt Cobain last night. I nearly cried watching the final scenes. The few clips of Cobain that were included still float behind my eyes, reminding me of the University district, Edward Hansen, Chad Thoma, and that beautiful vintage dress from the thirties with the beaded collar.
Maybe it’s because he was leaving her. Maybe it’s because he was alone.
Whatever it is, it feels as heavy as all the sadness in the world. Dramatic, eh?
Actually, I don’t know what it feels like, because I cannot feel.
No matter how I rattle my cage, my mental fortitude remains, which sucks as I would like to just lose my shit and get over it.