There's this hole within me. A sort of black hole that can suck all happiness and colour out of everything for me. My whole existence is geared towards keeping it at bay. Keeping it submerged somewhere in the unconscious.
Right now this hole has the shape of black cat. Throughout this week I was able to keep it away with laughter, conversations and alcohol with the last being the most potent agent in not just forgetting but bringing about the other two. Except in my dreams.
Then I found out about Choto Beral. I don't think about that at all. I can't. It's impossible to process so much pain: hers.
Loss makes you a bad person, an ugly person. Selfish, superstitious, nervous, angry, depressed. I know am not good company. Thanks to all my friends, especially S and J for helping me pretend like I was 'normal' and not a broken parody of something human throughout this last week.
I'm Midas, you see. Anything I touch, especially those that I love and those who are vulnerable, succumb to my golden, death-dealing touch. I should just stay away from non humans.