reckon love deals us the same

it’s hard. it’s hard because we don’t have any answers for it. it’s hard because we won’t give it a name. it’s hard because we’re hard, because we make things hard on ourselves, because we never learned that the shortest distance between two points is dropping dead before you’ve acknowledged the existence of death. how much distance might one cover over the course of a day: over rocky terrain, under heavy weather, inundated to the ankles, through the unconcerned air, if one never once leaves the house? that’s what we did, i guess. i guess that’s what we’re doing: declaring this a failure because we never saw fit to make an attempt. so live with that. go ahead. i dare you. it’s hard. it’s so fucking hard. but that’s the way of it. isn’t that always the way?