Like a map with a faded legend.

My jobs weren’t hard, just time-consuming, but there were those random days that I truly doubted my decision, made concrete almost three years ago. They’re less frequent now, but there nonetheless. I’ve never understood other people’s look of shock or choking gasp when I tell them how my bills are paid, the career that funds my lonely movie night spent sprawled across the sofa to take up the space of two, to make it seem as if I’m not alone. It’s just a job, and I’ve heard of plenty of other things that are worse than the permanent stain upon my hands, the reason my clothes don’t remain with me for as long as they’re intended to.

I’ve decided everyone is entitled to their mind, their feelings, however absurdly naïve they may be.

After all, I’ve got some pretty heavy ideas myself.