It's struck me as odd how so many from my past have made contact with me recently. A lot of nostalgia as I reflect over lonely smoke breaks or as I space out while others are trying to interact with me. I could talk for hours of each of them but I love them all too much and hold my memories of them so sacred that I refuse to share even their names with you. Tragically you won't get to hear any bit of them in personal detail. Tragic because it would have been a delight to write of them and quite therapeutic.
One I don't mind sharing with you is Mario. Someone who I have chosen as the bulk of this blog. The over-whelming sadness that my peers have felt over his death has caused me great irritation. I didn't like the guy. To be honest I hated the guy. When I heard the news I was surprised and bitter. I'll never get the chance to randomly cross paths with him and beat his face in. His impact on my life was unforgettable. When I reflect on him I think of someone without honor or integrity. Someone who stole from my home. Someone who kicked me while I was down. Someone lacking all dignity. I am not going to pretend that what happened between me and him is OK now that he has died. If I knew where his grave was I would offer nothing more than harsh words and a carefully aimed spit delivered to his plot. In this blog I am hoping to release this anger that I have. To anyone whom I have offended I apologize. I mean no disrespect to his loved ones nor am I big on disrespecting the dead. However, this is just how I am reflecting on his death and dealing with the tragic truth that I can no longer negatively impact his life in return.
As I wrote most of this I couldn't seem to get the nameless from my head. I have a lot of expectations on keeping in touch with those people and it is giving me a happiness that I can only compare to having the urge to sing along to a favorite song.
I'm done writing. I've lost the urge as I lost a small amount of respect for myself. I already feel great shame in knowing that you now know how negative my soul can be. I would pity someone who felt so horrible even after someone's death. It is what it is though, right? No point in writing about how I feel unless I'm going to be honest.
Fuck it. I don't give enough to give a fuck.