I can't even bring myself to care any more. When the barren ground drags through the back of my mind, and everything in front is a wasteland of sameness. Who gets off on this shit? As if we could stay here forever, trudging through the dust. It doesn't take long to see all you want, and the shit you haven't seen you couldn't care less about.
I remember sitting in your room. There were two single beds along opposite walls, and we sat facing each other. We listened to a new album by one of our current favourite artists and we threw ideas around about what we'd do with our lives, as the words opened up our minds to new possibilities. Back when I was interested. Back when I'd listen to an album without finding a problem with it. Back when I wasn't too busy worrying about inconsequential every day things. Our tiny troubles melted into the walls we leant our backs upon. Everything was in front of us then, but now everything is behind.
We sold our childhood for a meagre price, because we had no idea what we were selling.