Just hold the guitar they said, it’ll bring you back. back to what though back to before? before what happened before it all fell apart into this quiet slow burn, this ghost life in a studio apartment above the fucking laundromat with the hum and spin neverending, is that supposed to be comforting, like a heartbeat? feels more like a goddamn washing machine eating my insides, round and round. It’s so easy to just sit here in the dark and wait. everything feels like waiting.