found this in a document of unused words; can’t remember what i’d intended it for—

Spring Sonata. Beethoven. Begins in allegro. Moves into adagio molto espressivo. Allegro molto. Moist.

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life is thoroughly confusing and unexpected. i think a lot has happened in the past month in particular. i’ve felt a lot and been awake a lot and in slumber dreamt a lot and each day i’ve been going through so much emotionally and been running on all sorts of tangents in my own head — it surprises me that going to bed i feel like a different person from when i woke up.

i don’t know what to make of a lot of things. my trust is in whatever the fuck it is that shoved me into conscious existence. things will be okay because they need to be okay; we are inclined to reaching resolutions, to feeling a sense of closure, and when i die things will make sense — if they don’t, that will be my conclusion. i don’t know how to articulate my faith. everything will work out because everything has to work out.

jab / i crack into halves and swallow my thoughts before i can feel them / i claw at what i must not / i cannot tell and i will not take the risk

i am very cold very numb very feeling very small very scared

all i know is that i feel i don’t know how i feel or why i feel or what i feel all i know is that i do