Sometimes I think the opposite of love isn't hate, it's just not giving a fuck. Like true apathy is the real monster, not the screaming kind but the silent slow death of caring at all, the kind that lets everything rot from the inside, and the worst part is i think i'm close to that. Priya would hate to hear me say that, she’d tell me to paint, throw something, anything. maybe she’s right, the quiet is scarier. a blank canvas is easier than the quiet, but the canvas is staring at me, blank, like it already knows i’m empty. i think even Beans knows it too.