beauty in the breakdown

I enjoy reading stories about death and the ghosts that come after, even though it makes me cry. I don't know why, even though in my dreams I don't ever want to die and fight it to the very end, the moment when I decide I've had enough and I wake up. I find representations of grief to be one of the most inspired and beautiful things, and when my heart aches more than the stinging slaps I lay on my thighs in order to bring myself back to reality, it's good.

(no subject)

It's not my grief, it's not even real, but I keep crying.