Not Moving on, but Still Moving. Up, Hopefully.

Reading about the fictional desperation of others dulled the sting of mine. Babies dying, whores hooking, deranged druggies making their way to another shore of their mind-- all this would fill the minutes of my nights with a, sort of, comfort. The idea being that if I could keep on I eventually would survive and be. Be present. Be important. Not defined by the past and what happened, but rather, build on what is there. Build the greatness that I [we] deserve.