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I cooked food. 

There were ingredients.

There was seasoning.

There was an order.

Surprise. There was also pasta.

It looked like shit. It tasted like shit. Life is shit. Just gotta keep moving.


p.s. You ever notice how the more you give, the more gets taken from you? I try to be generous, I try to leave the people I meet in a better state for having encountered me, I try to put love into the world. I'm so tired. The only reason I don't quit is because I don't want people to think I'm a quitter, but who the fuck cares anyway? I don't get it, man. I'm just so tired of being alone, of being forgotten, of being told "if things were different," of sitting here in the dark trying to convince myself that maybe, just maybe, tomorrow will be different. Maybe tomorrow there will be love in the world. Maybe tomorrow I'll feel it. Maybe tomorrow one prayer will be answered, one wish will come true, one dream will be fulfilled, one tear - just one fucking tear - will be dried.

But it won't.

But I will keep fucking moving, because that's what I do. Tomorrow, I'll cook something that tastes amazing, that looks amazing. Tomorrow, I'll be better than I am today. To hell with the rest of it.

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