i think i live more in my mind and my art and my poetry (however nonsensical) than i do in any tangible, actual state of existence. something awful happens and eventually it just becomes artwork to me. a feeling to associate with music so i might better appreciate a melody. first: the despair and rage against the unfairness of it all. then: the quell and collapse into the peaceful resignation of a person with a blue soul. grief color. sea color. star color.

(is this living? my god, i think this is living.)

in the wintertime I am especially fond of hot drinks. i am irrational in that when i leave the warm coffeeshop with a hot drink in my hands, i try to cover every exposed bit of the cup with my fingers, as if to prevent the heat from escaping. to prevent it all from dissipating into the cold. i feel so sorry for it. a tenuous, helpless spot of warmth in a world of snow and frost—like a starling clinging to life. i try to gulp it all before it goes cold. i burn my throat and it aches for days after.

my natural propensity in returning to peaceful resignation is like the universe’s longing for the true vacuum (the more stable, lower-energy state). is like entropy. is like how everything wants to get further apart. the hot coffee going cold in the snow even as i desperately try to shield it.

—

• the universe longing for a lower state of energy
• vacuum decay: seemingly stable state of the universe's vacuum (the "false vacuum") transitions to a more stable, lower-energy state (the "true vacuum")