Deboning the Lettuce

It's been a mighty while and after so long, it's apparent the only occasions that call for linguistic purging are the ones that hit hard. The last was a death, that was it. Now it's another death, albeit a smaller one, another inevitable one (not that the last was inevitable, am still figuring). Well, both deaths bring with them merits. Both are hard to come to terms with at the onset but both have their place and significance in time. Lets talk about the smaller death, it was planned very vaguely but it came too fast, like a hostile wind displacing the stillness of the familier. A good wind to some extent perhaps, a necessary wind to shake up the musty corners of my soul. I tell myself, it must be for the better. It can only be for the better.

I can't wait for the week to end. I can't wait to taste freedom like how I know it- semi warm, a priveledge- like deboning a fucking lettuce, like fucking.