I need a cigaret. Not to smoke, I don’t smoke, just to hold it while it burns. I walked myself into a cheap predictable cliche and now I feel… things. Sad and dumb, and dumb for feeling sad when I knew exactly what was going to happen. I knew how it had to play out, that there was no positive outcome here. But I tried anyway. Despite the logic, despite past experience despite everything, I still tried and now when the story ended the way I knew it would, I have the nerve to feel sad about it. I feel dumb as hell for entertaining the idea at all, much les acting on it. I don’t feel sad about the outcome, because it was it was inevitable. I feel sad because I let myself hope that there was any chance that what I already knew to be true was wrong. Like a child reading a book for the tenth time hoping the ending will be different. Like no dumbass, the dog is going to die on pg 178. Why would reading it in a different room or with a different cover change anything? I meed a cigaret