Yaphet Kotto

Breath....breath.........................breath

I’ve been the rich kid. I’ve been the one people made fun of. Bullying. I hated it. So I said fuck it. I bought my “friends.” I could. I was the rich one. I would never say it to them, but they were never my friends. They would wait until I drank myself to drunk was due to depression from and ex girl and buy them shit. I bought it because I had the money. They were around because I had the money. But me being here now, in this house, I’m alone. They didn’t die with me. I wish I would’ve been able to actually have friends. Because they were never my friends. And we all knew it. Money just made us hang out. We threw so many parties just because we could afford it-no. I could afford it and they could do whatever they wanted free. I wonder if they will care about me other than the fact that there will be nothing left at that house after I’m gone. I’ll never know.

Love hasn’t been simple. Naomi. The last I loved. But it wasn’t a pretty or romantic love. It didn’t look cool. It was like two things out in the wild and one said “I’ll protect you” but both parties knew that was a lie. The kind of love where we never had to use words because it would over or under complicate things. The love where we felt less alone. A connection. A connection far better than any protection. It’s what everyone on earth wants. A place to go with someone. That connection. That kind of love. Knowing that we had that kind of love, I’m trying to figure out if she will be sad or depressed when I’m gone. I’ll never know.

Before being where I’m at now, shot, laying on the floor, I remember that I don’t know who I am or what I am anymore. I’m young. I’m 28. I haven’t hit 30 yet. I realize I’ll never be able to find myself. Find out what I’m here for. None of us should be here is the only conclusion I’ve come up with. I read once that the odds of a human existing is if everyone in San Diego rolled a trillion sided die and got the same number. That’s our chance of existing. None of us should be here if that’s our chance. I’ll never know why every person in San Diego rolled that trillion sided die and got the same number for me.

I watched a show once. The last episode when everyone was leaving each other and saying good bye, one said, “I wish you knew you were in the good old days before you left them.” Something along those lines. I’ll never know what the good old days ever were. I never lived them. I never had good old days to love. Damn