Helpless

Some late-night musings by Squirrel.

I just don't know anymore.

Kernel's dying. One of my snakes. She probably won't live through the night.

Why do I care? I promised myself, my parents, the snakes themselves that I wasn't going to get attached. That I knew they were probably going to die.

You know what? Those promises? They mean nothing. Nothing can stop the hurt, the sting, the burn, the feeling of... absolute uselessness... that the death of anything loved brings.

Because it can't be helped. Nothing can stop it. It can't be foreseen, it can't be undone, it can't be helped.

But even along the lines of getting attached. Those promises mean NOTHING. You can't stop yourself from growing fond of something; someone; a feeling; a place; anything.

You can't stop yourself from feeling. We'd just be mindless robots if we could. We would all do it at some point to escape the pain, the fear, the sadness. And that would be it.

I should feel pain. I shouldn't let it engulf me, but it's okay for me to hurt. I've been so afraid to let myself feel things for so long. I couldn't let myself get attached to anyone, really, because I was telling myself that it would all be gone; that it wouldn't last.

I need to get to sleep or I'm going to be dead in the morning.
Good night.