I find comfort in temporariness; a sense of relief and belonging knowing that this moment is one that will (and has already) pass. What is so wrong about finding home in temporary things? A temporary love, temporary high, temporary happiness, a temporary life; perhaps this has unconsciously become a new coping method. I know that my heart lies in all the wrong things. In unhealthy friends and habits, bad decisions and selfish desires but temporarily losing myself in something that may ruin me is the only time I feel at ease. At least when I’m fucked, my heart can feel something.